


"What Is This? We Can't Do This!" "Do Shut Up, Dear!"

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bickering, Boys In Love, Brotherly Love, Butt Plugs, Car Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant Mycroft, Dominant Sherlock, Don't Like Don't Read, Established Relationship, Every chapter is a more or less standalone smutty episode, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Jealous Mycroft, Jealous Sherlock, Kink Negotiation, Light Bondage, M/M, Nose Sex, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Outdoor Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Roleplay, Sappy, Shameless Smut, Sherlock is cunning, Sibling Incest, True Love, Watersports, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 09:43:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 45,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15240627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Sherlock and Mycroft are in a very happy romantic relationship. Sherlock has a thing for kinkier encounters, and whenever he and the oblivious John Watson have solved a case for queen and country, he gets indulged. Sherlock is 29, Mycroft is 36. Eurus doesn't exist. Neither does Jim Moriarty.





	1. Baker Street Treats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MezzaMorta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MezzaMorta/gifts).



> Each chapter is a sexual adventure of a different sort. Some are kinky, some are (hopefully) funny and I hope they are all hot enough to please you. This is not porn without plot though. Their feelings are always the main focus and we get to know them better when they are discovering different sides of the other one. I don't really plan the chapters; I let the boys guide me where they want to go. They know best anyway. I'm just their psychic medium.
> 
> Inspired by "Date Night" and actually every gorgeous fic by the lovely MezzaMorta.

### Prologue – Two Days After “The Study In Pink” Case

Mycroft watched his brother flouncing into his office and dropping elegantly onto the visitor's chair. He smiled with what he hoped was a calm, untouched expression. “Yes, Sherlock, is there anything I can do for you?”

Sherlock didn’t answer, scrutinizing him instead, forming a 'V' with his fingertips. “In fact I think we can do something for each other,” he said with a fine smile eventually and even had the impertinence to wink at him.

_Oh, no…_

“And what could that be?” Mycroft asked nonchalantly, knowing his racing pulse was betraying him. His smart little brother wouldn’t miss it. Nobody would, actually. Probably his throat looked as if it was about to explode.

“Not quite sure yet.” He stood up and leaned forward on Mycroft's desk. “Get up.”

“What for? I have no idea…”

“Don't be boring and get up.”

He should tell Sherlock to leave as he was busy. He should stay seated and shush him away with some sharp, nasty words and an imperious wave. But somehow he moved upwards as if someone had pulled invisible strings. He rested his hands on his desk as well and then his face was merely inches apart from Sherlock's, and he couldn’t help but staring into those disgustingly seductive eyes, and he didn’t even dare look down on those _lips_.

“You're jealous of John,” Sherlock claimed, piercing him up with these crystal clear eyes.

“Well, I am of course not!” Mycroft lied, knowing it didn’t make any sense. He hated the brave little doctor for stumbling into his brother's life, claiming him for himself, above all killing someone for him on the first bloody day! Of course he was jealous!

“It was impossible to miss. First you kidnapped him, and then you glared at him at the crime scene. But you shouldn’t be jealous because I'm not interested in him,” the smooth, deep voice of his little brother mercilessly continued.

He made one last brave and hopeless attempt at denying it. “I have no idea what you…” And then Mycroft's mouth was shut up with a smacking kiss, his face held between the detective's palms firmly. He froze and stiffened, and then he leaned into a kiss while a certain part of him continued to stiffen, and he dug into Sherlock's beautiful, delicious, soft and inviting mouth with vigour.

_No. I'm not kissing the living daylights out of my baby brother in my office and I'm not getting an erection while doing it._

But in fact he was, and even though it was madness because of Anthea being in the next room, a PM who loved just stumbling into offices without even knocking and the sheer insanity of being all over his own sibling, he wouldn’t have wanted it any different. He had wanted it for so long…

Later that day, after leaving him in his office, breathless and with kiss-swollen lips and tenting trousers to chase the next criminal and to get out before things got completely out of hand, Sherlock visited him in his house and they were all over each other within seconds. It was practically the real beginning of his life and he found himself in a loving, wonderful relationship with the most fascinating man to ever have walked the earth; the man he'd secretly loved since he had been delicate fifteen years old. It had made him feel guilty and dirty and _wrong_.

But now Sherlock was a man and a man who knew what he wanted and always got what he wanted, and what he miraculously wanted most was Mycroft; there was no doubt about it, and Mycroft couldn’t have been happier and more proud to call this perfect, wonderful man his own.

 

### Baker Street Treats

 

“Well, thank you, Sherlock, Doctor Watson. You've been very helpful once more.”

Sherlock's eyes were sparkling but his voice sounded as usual – arrogant, smug and condescending as John couldn’t see his expression from his place but of course could hear him speak. “Yeah, we all know about your inabilities to solve cases if they include even a bit of legwork.”

John snorted. “Yes, and it seems your agents are equally glued to their chairs.”

Mycroft tilted his head. “I'm afraid they are. Ghastly people.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows as if to admonish him for being too sarcastic. “Well, you'll get a bill.”

“I can't wait for it,” he said very truthfully but hopefully not too enthusiastically.

John led the way and Sherlock turned around before they left his office, now openly beaming at him and Mycroft winked. He couldn’t indeed wait for the bill even though it was most likely to be a tough one to pay. But then – no matter how much he would complain, he knew he would enjoy himself…

Mycroft was a powerful, influential man, feared and respected, and Sherlock desired him endlessly, and vice versa. As brothers, they had a lot in common, especially their huge, perfect brains, their contempt towards the common goldfish and their search for perfection.

There was only one thing where they didn’t quite agree – beside sleeve garters and three-piece-suits – and this was their sex life. As much as Mycroft enjoyed getting tactile with his brother, he insisted on more traditional ways of pleasing each other while Sherlock was very adventurous despite or perhaps _because of_ the fact he had gone into their relationship as a virgin. He had been exasperated when Mycroft had shaken his head about his rather brave suggestions in the beginning, drawing a line in the sand whenever he'd been asked to do something indecent or shocking – well, more indecent and shocking than the incest itself, that is.

But two months after they had gotten together, a national emergency had let Mycroft search for Sherlock's help, and this had led to an ongoing agreement that made Sherlock proud of his cunningness while Mycroft rang his hands and complained even though he secretly loved it, which Sherlock knew very well.

Basically it meant that Sherlock – along with John Watson usually - would solve a case for Mycroft and in return he – without John Watson - got a very special reward: sex in a) an unusual place or b) in an extraordinary way or c) both of it or d) doing roleplay of any possible sort, which could of course also be combined with choices a) and/or b). In total it was something they had never used to do before, something exciting and fresh and hot. Sometimes they would perform it the same day, sometimes it required some planning and had to be postponed, but so far Mycroft had fulfilled each and every one of Sherlock's requests. And from start to finish, this agreement paid out for both. And Mycroft was looking forward to see what Sherlock's brain would hatch this time.

*****

Sherlock was tingling from excitement from his huge brain to his smallest toe when he approached his brother's house. Finally! Finally Mycroft had had a mildly interesting case for him and John that they had solved brilliantly. Well, _Sherlock_ had solved it while John had stood beside him, admiring him. Sherlock liked that; he did admit it. Who wouldn’t like to be looked up to with eyes full of adulation and awe? But what he liked a lot more was the result of his service for the Queen.

Oh, Mycroft and he had sex several times a week and Sherlock loved every single of their encounters. He would never call them boring. He loved to be spread out on Mycroft's huge bed, his brother on top of him, pushing inside him from above missionary style (even though Sherlock doubted that the famous missionaries had practiced incestuous gay sex with their brothers but then, he had not been there, had he?), tender and caring. They were kissing whilst doing it most of the time or Mycroft was nibbling at his ear or his neck, making him purr and wiggle in pleasure. Of course Sherlock topped his brother as well, mostly doggy style, and Mycroft used to make adorable little whimpers at every deep thrust, his voice as little cold and controlled as it could get. Sherlock got off on seeing his pert arse cheeks wobble when he pushed forward and he always melted when he finally released himself after frantically hammering into his man's welcoming hole for minutes. Both of them loved to perform oral sex on each other's fronts and backsides and lick every part of the other man's body and the cold, sophisticated Holmes boys had a very soft spot for shower each other with tender loving care. Sherlock loved having sex with Mycroft, he loved cuddling with Mycroft and he loved Mycroft, period.

But…

But Sherlock was a sucker for the thrill of the chase. Any kind of thrill actually. And so these special rewards his brother granted him with were simply the icing on the cake. It was fun, it was adventurous, it was crazy and it was wonderful. And Mycroft would complain and shake his head so the curl on his forehead was bouncing but in the end he would indulge Sherlock and both of them would love every second of whatever situation Sherlock brought them in.

Sometimes it was dangerous. But never _too_ dangerous. They had managed to keep their relationship from the world for the past six months and that’s how it had to remain. It couldn’t come out, never. Towards nobody. They were all oblivious. John, Mrs Hudson, DI Lestrade, their parents, the public. To everybody they knew, they still were the siblings who rowed on a regular basis, driving each other insane, degrading each other with nasty remarks. Mycroft would be admonishing, smug and arrogant towards him when they were not alone – except if they were in the presence of their parents, which happened very rarely. They did behave more like brothers then, not like fiends. But John would have sworn they couldn’t actually stand each other – linked by their blood and genes and therefore not really the arch enemies they claimed to be but certainly not usual siblings who cared for one another and showed their affection. Mycroft was annoyed but forgiving as he was the older brother who had to be the reasonable one, and Sherlock rebelled against him like it was his job as the annoying younger sibling.

So far, so untrue. But they were used to playing these parts as they had played them for real for a very long time. Sherlock had discovered his – certainly not that new - feelings for his brother only a few months before John had appeared in his life; ironically enough during a dinner at the Holmes parents' house, and he had quickly figured out that his brother might share them, hiding them behind the eye-rolling mask of being annoyed and at the end of his tether with him. When Mycroft had kidnapped John and shown his discomfort with Sherlock's new friend so unmistakably at the college crime scene, it had been obvious to him. Sherlock loved Mycroft and Mycroft loved Sherlock so they had to be together; it was as simple as this. To his delight, it hadn't taken much effort to convince Mycroft to give it a try. It was as if his brother had only waited for him to make a move.

And Mycroft was simply wonderful, adorable, affectionate. He couldn’t be any further away from being the stone cold man he made everybody believe he was. At least not around Sherlock, and it made him very proud to be the centre of Mycroft's attention, the only one his untouchable older brother opened his in reality big heart for. He wondered why it had taken him so long to realise how sexy and handsome and damn cute his big brother was. But now he did know it and he would never let him slip away again. And spicing up their love life, no matter how much Mycroft pretended to have to be convinced every time, was one way to ensure their bond would continue to grow and thrive and stay fresh and exciting.

They had not had anything of it for the past few weeks as Mycroft had not had a fitting case and he couldn’t just make one up in order to not let John get suspicious. But now it was in Sherlock's capable hands to bring some more sparks into their already brightly shining relationship.

*****

Reluctantly Sherlock loosened his grip on Mycroft when his brother gently but firmly pulled away. After Mycroft had opened the door, asked him in and Sherlock had hung up his coat, they'd been kissing all the way to the living room and while sitting down on the couch. Lip-locking. Devouring each other's mouth. For full fifteen minutes.

Mycroft smiled at him now, his usually impeccably styled hair a mess, his cheeks flushed. “You would eat me if you could, right?”

“It's not my fault that you taste so delicious!” retorted Sherlock, stroking over his brother's swollen bottom lip with the tip of his forefinger.

Mycroft kissed the digit. “I'm profoundly sorry, brother mine. We will get back to this lovely activity in a little while I'm sure but why don't you tell me first what you request for having been so helpful?”

Sherlock beamed at him. The kissing had distracted him from his task but now he couldn’t wait to tell Mycroft what he was expected to do. “Tomorrow John will be gone for a date.” The next day was a Friday, a day when John went out very often, and of course a day when Sherlock spent at least a few hours with his brother.

“Who's the lucky one?”

Sherlock waved this away. “I have no idea.” If it hadn't meant it was easier to meet up with Mycroft when John had plans of his own, he would have never even remembered that John had told him he had those plans. It was demanded way too much to recall the names of all the women John spent – and probably wasted - his time with. “Anyway… Mrs Hudson has her bridge girls over.”

“Girls? Girls as in two-hundred-year-old women?”

“Yeah, sort of. Doesn’t matter!”

“Of course not, sorry, brother dear,” Mycroft said soothingly, putting his hand on Sherlock's neck, grabbing him. “So you will head over here and then what?”

Sherlock grinned and shook his head. “No, I won't. You will come to Baker Street.”

Mycroft stared at him. “Oh no, I won't.”

Sherlock had wanted this to happen for so long but he had figured it would be too dangerous. But he just had to have it. Have Mycroft in his own flat he shared with the doctor. At least this one time. He deserved it! “Yes you will. John will be out and Mrs Hudson occupied. We will hear them laugh from her flat, her and her old girls. We won't even have to be quiet!”

Mycroft shook his head. “No. Choose something else.”

“It won't be long. Just a quickie on the couch after some special foreplay, a verbal one.” Sherlock was not an idiot. He knew Mrs Hudson or John just could not walk in on them so they had to make it swift. Clients came by at any time of day as well but they would have to use the doorbell after all. It was a risk but a small one.

Mycroft sighed. “In your bedroom.”

Sherlock pouted but he couldn’t keep the sparkles out of his eyes. “Deal!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes but it was playful and good-natured. “Why do you ever win?”

 _Because you want to let me win…_ But somehow they never put this into words – that Mycroft complained but in fact enjoyed it every bit as Sherlock did. It had to be a thrill for his brother as well – having sex with Sherlock in the flat he shared with a man who couldn’t stand him, owned by a landlady who found him very irritating to say the least. He didn’t say any of that. “Because I'm irresistible, sexy and don't take 'no' for an answer?”

“Sadly enough, that's all true. So - what about this verbal foreplay?”

Sherlock smiled widely. “You will love it!”

*****

“Please – take a seat, Mr…?”

“Oh, Miller, sir, Myc Miller.” The man had fine, ruffled black hair and his tie was a mess.

Sherlock suppressed a grin. It must kill his impeccable brother to look like this. Certainly he had messed up his looks on the stairs to 221b only. Impossible to be seen like this by anyone else! “You can call me Sherlock. 'Sir' – that sounds like my boring big brother.”

Mycroft glared at him while he was gingerly sitting down on the visitor's chair. “I'm sure he is grown-up and reasonable rather than boring.”

“Oh, my brother can do both,” Sherlock assured him. “Ghastly man. Anyway – what can I do for you? This mug is for you by the way.” He had made tea for them and Mrs Hudson had thought of buying biscuits for a change.

“'Ghastly',” Mycroft mumbled with a shake of his head. “Perhaps he should put you over his knee from time to time.” He drank from the tea and at least seemed to be pleased about this.

Sherlock's face lightened up. That was something they had not explored yet!

Mycroft's lips twitched. “Wrong thing to say… Giving you silly ideas… Anyway. My problem is that my… boyfriend… I think he's betraying me.”

“Oh, is he? What makes you think he is?”

Mycroft cleared his throat. “He's been so different lately. Moodier and… he uses a different eau de cologne.”

Sherlock nodded. “These are bad signs.” God, he loved roleplay. Improvised roleplay above all. He never told Mycroft how to behave and what to say; it always developed while they were performing it, and usually there were no sexual acts agreed on beforehand. They just fell into place. But this time it was rather clear that it would be rather classic and quick as it minimized the danger of being caught. Plus it was rewarding Mycroft for playing along and getting down and dirty in 221b. It was all about giving and receiving. Their agreement was not at all only about Sherlock's fantasy fulfilment. It was supposed to make them both feel comfortable and great, and it always did.

“Yes, I thought so. You know – he is so much more attractive than I am,” Mycroft continued thoughtfully. “Never knew what he saw in me.” His long-fingered right hand fumbled with the offensive tie.

Sherlock swallowed. He knew Mycroft was playing a role but he figured this was reflecting his real thoughts. It was stupid of course but he had already assumed that Mycroft really thought deep inside Sherlock was too good and too beautiful for him… This silly man! Sherlock admired the ground he was walking on! “Wow. If he looks even better than you do, he must be the most gorgeous man on earth!”

Mycroft smiled. “He is.”

It made Sherlock's heart feel all fuzzy. “Well, and I think _you_ are, too. It must be a draw!” They were rapidly leaving the grounds of their play, and funnily enough, Mycroft got them back on track.

“Well… That's very nice of you but you see – I'm not free. I do love him very much.”

It was idiotically hard to hear these words out of his brother's mouth. Sherlock knew there was no other man in Mycroft's life and he only loved him and was actually talking about him, but it made him feel jealous of this phantom of an unfaithful boyfriend.

“Well, doesn’t sound as if he deserved that!” he burst out.

There was a mild surprise in Mycroft's eyes for a moment. “What kind of a statement is this?! Can you help me or not?”

“What exactly is it what I should do for you?” In this moment loud laughter was audible from 221a and both men winced.

They shook it off quickly – as long as they could hear them laugh, they knew Mrs Hudson was occupied after all. “I want you to find out who the other man is and kill him.”

Sherlock, who had just taken a sip of his tea, almost choked on it. “I should what?!”

“Kill him. You see – nobody is allowed to lay hand on my property. Get his dirty fingers into my man's pants.”

Sherlock stared at him in fascination. How much of this was real? How would Mycroft react if anyone tried to get a little too close to Sherlock? Of course they would never find out because there was nobody else Sherlock had any interest in but somehow Sherlock was pretty convinced this was also coming from true feelings… And it made his insides tingle… “I'm not a killer!” he protested. _But perhaps you are…_ He knew of course Mycroft was capable of almost anything. He didn’t carry his codename 'Antarctica' for nothing. If anyone harmed Sherlock, he wouldn’t go unpunished. And probably also not if anyone tried to seduce him. How far his brother would go in his revenge was another question.

Something was sure – these roleplays made them explore very different parts of each other's personality, and that was exciting in itself, apart from the sex. They had known each other all their lives but they had been estranged for so long. Six months of a heated sexual relationship had not brought all depths to light. There was still a lot to learn about each other and Sherlock was very keen on doing so. He wanted Mycroft to be an open book for him; all layers of his personality examined and gently put aside to reach the next one. He knew it would be fascinating.

“This is out of the question. I won't do that. You should rather drop your silly boyfriend. You're better off without him. Just forget him.”

“You think that's so easy?” Mycroft asked with raised eyebrows.

“I could help you with this.” Somehow he was keen on ending the play and getting to the physical part.

“Oh could you?”

“Oh yes, I could…”

Mycroft stood up and emptied his mug. “Well then – show me.”

Their roleplay had been rather short and weird but it had swirled up some truths and suspicions and that was a clear success. The sex would seal it now.

*****

They started kissing on the way to Sherlock's bedroom. All of their sexual encounters started with extended kissing, and it was most likely the best way to begin it. Mycroft, who had never tongue-kissed anyone in his life before Sherlock had broken the ice between them, was totally addicted to it now. And Sherlock, who had never kissed anybody at all, was so enthusiastic that it had more than once made him come before they had even gotten to undressing. And of course this was a massive turn-on for Mycroft.

He had not rehearsed his role before and so he had said some things that were coming from his heart. He did believe Sherlock was way out of his league regarding his looks. Mycroft was a man who had struggled with his weight all his life and who had gotten rid of most of the extra pounds but was still flabby around the waist. His hair started to disappear; at least the hair on his head. His body hair seemed to increase inversely proportionally… His rather round face wasn't ugly; he wouldn’t go that far, but it wasn’t anything special either. His eyes were the best part – a light, rather attractive blue, and he did like his pretty long lashes. His nose was a disaster and his lips were not nearly as sensuous as they could have been. They were not too thin but not like Sherlock's, either.

Sherlock… All lanky slimness, smoothness, muscles, chiselled abs and plush arse. A head full of raven black curls, eyes of a colour everybody failed to describe properly but threatened to drown in, these amazing cheekbones and of course this mouth… the impersonation of sin…

They were both hung big but Mycroft was the winner in this category at least. His dick was way above average in both length and girth, and after not using it for any sexual purpose for years, it was working very well with Sherlock now. Well, probably even the _corpses_ Sherlock used to examine got hard-ons when he touched them…

Mycroft was well aware Sherlock was turning heads wherever he went. He would have never let John Watson move in with him if he had sensed a hint of homosexuality in the brave little man. Still he and his brother had a chemistry he didn’t really appreciate but he accepted the doctor's presence as he took good care of Sherlock. Something that he couldn’t do… They couldn’t live together, couldn’t spend nearly as much time with each other as he, and certainly also Sherlock, would have wanted to spend. They made the best out of the time they had but it was never enough.

Sherlock told him all the time how much he loved him. And he did believe him. And still…

He feared the day when Sherlock might find someone else. Probably not Molly, the silly little pathologist, and Greg Lestrade was no danger either, as straight as he was. But every day someone could cross his path who would fascinate Sherlock. He didn’t put these fears into words but he figured Sherlock was aware of them.

So it had been rather nice when Sherlock had gotten seriously jealous of his imaginary boyfriend. It was a tad absurd of course but it had touched him. He had no idea why Sherlock should get jealous of anybody. Even if anyone would have been interested in Mycroft - he only had eyes for his little brother.

He closed the door of Sherlock's bedroom now and locked it. He was well aware if someone tried to get it to find it locked, it would not be much better than stumbling in on them having sex though.

“You're sure John will be out for longer? And what about Mrs Hudson?”

Sherlock sighed but his eyes were full of affection and understanding. He knew what was at stake. “He will be out at least for two more hours; perhaps he won't even come home tonight at all. And you heard them – the girls are having way too much fun to part already. And we'll get on with it right now.”

“Do you want to top me?”

Sherlock nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes.”

Of course he did. He had felt jealous and no matter how little justified it had been, he would want to claim Mycroft now.

They had some rules – no love bites at any body part others could see was not the least important one. So no claiming by biting down on his neck. But fucking his arse hard and clashingly would be fine.

They undressed rather unceremoniously; Sherlock's clothes were tossed onto a chair while Mycroft neatly folded them. He had never admonished Sherlock for not doing that. He wasn't his father and he wasn't even feeling like his big brother now in the first place – he was his partner and Sherlock was a grown man. He was allowed to behave untidily if he wanted to.

“You've got lube?” he asked Sherlock when they were both naked.

“Does Big Ben have bells?”

Mycroft chuckled. “Given your interest in such things, it could very well be a serious question!”

Sherlock grinned. “It was!” He bent over to his drawer and presented a bottle of lube. “What a question though. Of course I do.”

“Do you use that when you masturbate?”

“Mycroft! What an indiscreet question!”

They grinned both from ear to ear. Sometimes they had phone sex. Pretty often actually. There were times when Sherlock had been tied up all day and Mycroft had gone from one meeting into the other one or had to attend a dinner party, and they were both knackered. And Sherlock just couldn’t go out every evening without making John wonder. They knew this all and had arranged themselves with it. Sometimes it was hard. But it was never too hard. And when they were missing each other a lot, they made each other come over the phone. It was nice. Imagine Sherlock using this stuff to slick his cock up for his deft hands…

Mycroft kneeled on the bed and looked over his shoulder. “Sorry for that. Well, do your worst.”

Sherlock stared at his arse and Mycroft knew what he was seeing. “Damn! You have a plug up there!”

“Well, I figured I would end up on bottom today so I came prepared.” It would speed things up a lot. And they both knew they had to get over with it quickly. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t enjoy it.

“Cunning boy! Alright then – prepare for my sword now.”

“Oh pretty black knight – I'm all yours!”

*****

It was the thirty-third time. The thirty-third time he spread his brother's cheeks to nudge the tip of his swollen, pink dick against this luring entrance, smearing his pre-come about the rosy, wrinkled little dot that he had opened a little wider with his fingers and some more lube. For the thirty-third time he saw his flexible knob disappear and felt it enveloped by tightness and heat. Fifty-eight times he had been on bottom, enjoying every time he was speared by Mycroft's huge cock, and thirty-three times he'd been on top now, spending pleasure and receiving it in equal measures.

He panted but was otherwise rather quiet when he found his rhythm, fucking his brother with steady, deep strokes.

Mycroft was not quite as controlled, his moans were sharp and deep and hearing him like this was an extra turn-on for Sherlock. Only he could do that – making Mycroft lose the self-control he was so proud of.

Mycroft's noises and the cracking of the bed were not loud enough to draw attention from 221a, not when they were so loud themselves. Sherlock had chosen this particular day for a reason – he wouldn’t have dared do that if the house had been all quiet. Nonetheless he couldn’t drag this out, as much as he wanted it to go on for hours. He reached around his brother's soft stomach, tickling him a bit in the go, enjoying the warm, hairy skin under his hand, and then he found his huge, hard dick, stroking it in the rhythm of his trusts, and eventually he put one foot onto the bed to change the angle of penetration, rubbing over that hidden spot inside his brother's canal. It had taken him some time to properly stimulate it in the beginning but now he was driving Mycroft into ecstasy like a pro.

Mycroft now growled more than moaned, and then his muscles contracted hard around Sherlock's poking dick and he came over his hand with a muffled cry, showering it with stickiness, holding himself up shakily.

He didn’t have to stay up for too long as Sherlock followed him over the edge only moments later, pumping his semen into his brother's arse. There was nothing more arousing, nothing more powerful than this moment – knowing he had finished him off, making him feel great, and filling him up with his essence and with his love. And for the first time he had been allowed to do so in his own bed, with Mrs Hudson in the flat under them, oblivious, and he was the first to admit it had given him an extra thrill.

“Now that was great, brother mine,” Mycroft mumbled, finally collapsing on his bed.

“Yes, my love, it definitely was. Do you still think of this nasty boyfriend of yours?"

"Who?"

Sherlock smiled. "Let me clean you up, my beautiful man.”

“I love you.”

Sherlock tousled his already unruly hair. “I know. And I love you, big, messy brother.” He just couldn’t wait for more.

 


	2. Watersports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short, kinky, hopefully a bit funny and fluffy chapter, containing watersports. If that's not your cup of tea (*chuckle*), you might want to skip it :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what it is with the Holmes boys, me, and watersports. I swear that has never been a kink of mine before I wrote Love Changes Everything. But well. If it's concerning them, I find it hot :)

“Come in, love. Aw, you look tired.”

“I am, honey, I am.” Mycroft let himself be freed from his crumpled jacket when he had put his umbrella into its stand next to the door. “After you and John had left, the PM got wild. Couldn’t believe the lord had lowered himself to such disgrace…”

Sherlock tutted. “Degenerates, all of them.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say _all_ but… probably most of them, I give you that. Okay. What do you want for it?” He was feeling tired and sweaty and he needed his couch and some cuddles but Sherlock had certainly not come over only for this after his display of brilliance. It had been too long anyway since the last case he had been able to give him.

But his brother surprised him. “Mycie, forget that now and come on. You need to drink something and I bet you didn’t get much to eat, either.”

“Don't tell me you have cooked for me?”

Sherlock snorted. “Of course not. Your house is still standing, isn’t it? I brought something from _Angelo's_.”

“Oh, good.” When Sherlock lifted his eyebrows, he hastily added, “Not that I really thought you couldn’t cook a simple meal.” The eyebrows got higher. “Or actually a really complicated meal!”

Sherlock chuckled. “It's alright, brother. No need to kiss my arse. Well…”

“You know that's one of my favourite things to do,” Mycroft assured him. “But I could really murder some Italian treats now.” He had hardly eaten anything during the day. “But before I definitely need a quick shower.” He couldn’t sit down for dinner, let alone with his deliciously smelling brother, feeling so sticky and sweaty. And of course he had to change clothes anyway.

He was a tad disappointed that Sherlock didn’t offer to share the shower with him. “No problem, I'll reheat it when you're finished,” was all he said. But then he placed a firm kiss on his mouth and pinched his arse, and Mycroft went off with a smile. He was not quite sure he could pull of a real sexual adventure tonight but if Sherlock still wanted him to pay his debt at once, he would do it. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too strenuous. In fact he hoped for just cuddles or a simple sexual act which could very well include kissing and licking Sherlock's wonderful arse… In fact he would be rather pleased if Sherlock sat down on his face so he wouldn’t even have to move while he was eating him out… But Sherlock had helped him and they had a deal, and he would fulfil it – at once if it wasn’t one that needed preparation.

*****

After showering and shaving, he walked over to the living room where they used to spend the time before going to bed. They liked to sit on the couch while they were having dinner which Mycroft would have never considered before they had gotten together. And of course he would have never worn the clothes he had put on now – Sherlock had gotten them matching silky jog pants and shirts in several colours. He had said he didn’t want to see any three-piece-suits five minutes after Mycroft had come home. He didn’t exactly stop the time but Mycroft did shower and change very quickly to please him. Most of the time Sherlock joined him in the shower, rubbing and shampooing the stress of the day out of him, and sometimes he also sucked it out under the warm spray.

He hadn't done so today so Mycroft, smelling like a flower garden and with cheeks as smooth as Sherlock's other cheeks, joined him in the living room. And stopped dead when he saw his couch. “Um…”

Sherlock, who had just put the cutlery onto the table, looked up. “Yes?” he asked with a bright smile.

“What… What is this?”

“Oh, that? It's a gift by a client. She was so grateful. I found the bracelet she had lost while doing shopping. Just by letting her concentrate on all the things she did this morning. Didn’t even have to move away from my chair.”

“And so she…”

“…gave me the blanket as a present, yes. Isn't it awesome?”

Mycroft would have rather used another second syllable to the last word but Sherlock looked at him so happily that he forced himself to nod and smile. “Yes, it… is… interesting. Very special actually…”

“Yes! Who else would think of combining green, orange and pink for a blanket! It's brave! I immediately knew it would fit so well on your couch. We can wrap ourselves up in it when it gets colder. It's very soft and thick.” Sherlock sat down on the unspeakable thing, bounced up and down on it for a bit and petted it like a beloved old dog. It was not only incredibly ugly and did nasty things to Mycroft's eyes but also was it huge, covering the entire couch and a part of the floor next to it. “Come, sit down! Your bum will love it after sitting on hard chairs all day! And dinner's ready!”

Mycroft smiled. Sod it. If his little brother loved the most hideous blanket this side of the universe so much, he would be the last to spoil his fun. “Thank you for that, Sherlock. I can't wait to wrap us into it when the evenings get fresh.” He would just close his eyes then and make out with Sherlock under it.

Sherlock beamed at him. “I knew you would love it!”

*****

“Oh, I think I had enough water now.” Mycroft tried to put his hand over his glass but Sherlock had none of it.

“It's hot and you came here dehydrated. You must drink. You may have another sort of drink later but for now it should be water.”

Mycroft hadn't even thought of having a whiskey in this heat. And he hadn't drunk nearly enough during his work day but he had certainly made up for that over the past half an hour. But if Sherlock insisted on it…

They had just finished eating and Sherlock had asked a lot of questions about his day. Mycroft loved him for that. Well, of course he loved him to pieces anyway but this made him especially grateful. When he had come home in the past, there had been nothing but silence waiting for him. He had eaten alone on the long table in his dining room, poured at least two drinks and had gone to bed very soon after, alone of course.

His life had changed so much for the better. Not that Sherlock would have been waiting for him every evening when he arrived; that was simply not possible. But when they could only meet later or not at all, they would text with each other or talk on the phone. And if not even this was possible, Mycroft simply knew Sherlock would be thinking of him and missing him all the same, and it made his heart get warm. He was alone then, not lonely anymore.

He took a sip from the icy water with the generous slice of lemon in it. “Well, the lord won't do such things so soon again.”

“I should hope so. Or rather not… Will come back anytime for solving the case again.”

Mycroft smiled. “There should be more of them. So – still no hint at what you have planned?”

“Just this, Mycroft. Having dinner, talking, cuddling.” Sherlock put the plates together and then he pulled Mycroft against him and urged him to lie down with him and on him.

Mycroft returned the deep, passionate kiss he was granted with but then he gently pulled away. “Let me go to the bathroom first, and then we can cuddle and get tactile as much as you want.” He wasn't feeling that exhausted anymore.

“Uh-uh,” Sherlock made, his hands keeping his waist in a firm grip. “You're not going anywhere.” With this he kissed Mycroft's neck, nibbling at that special spot that made Mycroft's eyes roll by themselves every time.

“Sherlock,” he breathed. “I really have to go but I'll be back in five minutes!”

“Too long.” The long violinist fingers slipped into Mycroft's trousers, the middle finger finding his crack and rubbing it. It felt heavenly but…

“You have to let me go now.” He struggled to free himself but Sherlock was stronger than he looked.

“Whatever you have to do, you can do it right here.”

It took a few seconds until the meaning of these words sunk in. “Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes!” Sherlock chuckled.

“That's why you brought this horrible blanket!”

Sherlock laughed now. “Oh, you should have seen your face, Mycroft. You really believed I like it? Seriously?” He rubbed Mycroft's shoulder. “I know you're the smart one, but after this lousy, hard day, I was able to outsmart you for once as it seems.”

Mycroft couldn’t believe it. “So that's the reward you want?” He was well aware why Sherlock had not told him but surprised him like this. He would have never agreed on this. It was… nasty and perverse and…

“No, Mycroft – it is not! I can read your thoughts! It's something a lot of gay men do and I've always wanted to try it out with you. Nothing will happen to your precious couch, and if something gets onto the floor, I will wipe it up with the blanket at once. It's washable by the way…”

“I can't do this, Sherlock! No! You know I do anything for you and I've always let you have your way with me but this – no. I can't… What exactly did you want me to do at all?”

“Just cuddle with me, Mycroft, like I said.” Sherlock's arms grabbed his waist even tighter, and he inserted one leg between Mycroft's and rubbed his crotch. “Just cuddle and let go.”

Mycroft swallowed. “Our clothes…” he tried again but Sherlock kissed his forehead.

“Of course we won't keep them on. I want to see it, Mycroft. And even if they get soiled – I will just put them into the washing machine along with the blanket. There won't be any traces, I promise.”

“What do you think you'll gain from this, Sherlock?”

“Intimacy. Trust. A part of you I never saw and felt before. Touching some other fluid out of your precious body. Please?”

It was hard to argue against that. And actually… no matter how naughty and wrong it felt, how much it felt like abusing his brother (which was stupid enough as he actually begged for it) – it was tempting to just let go and see what happened.

Sherlock sensed victory of course and slipped Mycroft's soft trousers over his arse and managed to wiggle out of his own. None of them were wearing pants – an unspoken rule. No pants on an evening spent together. They also stripped off their shirts so they were both completely naked, their slightly damp bodies pressing against each other, hairy skin on smooth skin.

Mycroft's bladder was painfully full now and he knew he needed release after Sherlock had urged him to drink all this water. Still he was hesitant.

“Come on, brother mine, my sweet, sexy big brother,” Sherlock purred into his ear.

It shouldn’t be such a turn on to be called that by the man he had sex with but it always worked. His cock got harder, straining against Sherlock's thigh, and then Sherlock slid his hand between his cheeks and pressed a finger against his perineum, and that worked fine as a trigger.

A splash of urine shot out of his hardening dick, against his brother's thigh and onto the blanket, and Sherlock groaned and urged him to straddle his thighs so the warm liquid was directed onto his groin.

Mycroft stared down with fascination at the stream that covered his brother's rapidly stiffening cock, overflew his ripped stomach and of course ran down on his sides to sicker into the indeed very thick blanket. He wondered if his couch would really survive this but he decided he didn’t actually care. Sherlock was panting, staring at Mycroft's spurting member in awe and with such lust that it made him shudder. He ran his hands through the mess on his body, grabbed Mycroft's big pride and started stroking it, making him pee even harder and get even harder which made his efforts rather painful. But it was a sweet, sexy pain, and Mycroft moaned at the unusual feeling.

Finally he was finished and Sherlock urged him to get up so he could fold the wet but - thanks to its thickness - not dripping blanket together and put it onto the ground.

“See, your couch and the floor are completely dry. And now feed me your dick.” With this Sherlock pushed Mycroft back onto the couch and placed himself on his knees between his spread thighs, swallowing down half of his heavy cock in the go, moaning at the taste.

Sherlock was so perfect at sucking his dick. His tongue did things to him that made him cry out loudly. When it slipped under his foreskin and whirled around his sensitive glans, it felt so good that he almost ripped out a swatch of black, curly hair, which made Sherlock chuckle around his cock. He soothed him with gentle touches on his thighs before going on sucking mercilessly, and the thought that he would not only taste pre-come but also his urine was adding naughtily to Mycroft's arousal.

It didn’t take long until Mycroft pulsed into his mouth. The entire situation had turned him on so much. What would he be without Sherlock pushing his limits time after time? A tired, sexless old borer, that's what.

“I love you,” he hissed when Sherlock sucked every drop out of him, cleaning his dick like a cat would lick up sweet milk.

“Love you, too,” Sherlock mumbled, his eyes dazed, his cheeks red. “Suck me now, brother.”

“Yes, come on. Wait…” Mycroft lay down on the cool leather couch, urging Sherlock to kneel over him and feed him his dick.

All the rest of the stress of the day and his previous uncomfortableness with this special sort of sexual act left him when he felt Sherlock's muscular thighs on both sides of his head and he was swallowing his long, hard penis as deep as he could while fondling Sherlock's smooth balls with his fingers, rolling them around them, making his brother wiggle and groan above him. Salty liquid dribbled onto his taste buds and he just couldn’t get enough. He sucked and licked and kissed the hard, soft flesh, lapping over the slit every few seconds to not miss any delicious drop; his hands eventually reached around to massage the plush buttocks and then one finger carefully sneaked into a sweaty, wrinkled entrance. It was the action that drove Sherlock over the edge. He rammed his dick as deep into Mycroft's throat as he could and flooded him with his release.

Mycroft ate it all up and licked him clean and then urged him to lie down right onto him so he could wrap him into a tight embrace. “You'll be my death, brother dear,” he mumbled, stroking over Sherlock's damp hair.

“I know. But the nicest one you can get.”

“No doubt about it. I want to do it again some day,” he added after a short pause.

Sherlock smiled against his neck. “I knew you'd love it. But sometimes you have to be pushed a little to give it a try.”

Not only sometimes as they both knew. But of course Mycroft loved to be pushed. He wouldn’t have thought though that this included peeing on his little brother… He had been wrong. He wanted to further explore this. And he definitely wanted to change places. “Will you do it to me, too?”

“You can bet on it. We'll keep the blanket. In the depths of your wardrobe.”

“Hm, I don't know. I would really love to use it to keep us warm here in winter.”

Sherlock rewarded him with a tender kiss. “Mrs Kane would be happy to hear that.”

“May she live long and prosper.” Mycroft draw patterns on his smooth back.

“We should drink a toast on her.”

“We definitely should. Next time we use it… Thank you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock lifted his head to look into his eyes. “For corrupting you further and further?”

Mycroft laughed. “Yes. And for showing me all the pleasures in the world.”

“I won't stop until we've experienced them all.”

“Promised?”

“Oh yes, brother mine – definitely promised!”


	3. Master And Servant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Mycroft gets home from work, he is welcomed by a certain bratty butler.

Mycroft was standing next to the PM, listening to him thanking his brother and John Watson. He tried to look smug and untouched, not showing the pride he felt for his smart little brother, who was obviously rather annoyed by the old man's exaggerated speech. The doctor at least was listening to him, nodding seriously and stepping from one foot on the other, feeling embarrassed by the attention of the leader of the British Government. At least the leader the public got to see…

Finally the old man was finished and ran off to torture whomever else, and Sherlock turned to Mycroft. “Well, at least someone who appreciates our hard work for you,” he said, playing his role impeccably as usual.

“Oh, so do I, brother dear. I just don't tend to flatter you that much to not increase your ego any further. My office needs an intact roof.”

Sherlock turned his laughter into coughing in the last second. “Oh brother, so funny today,” he said, his eyes clearly saying he meant it, which made Mycroft a little proud of himself even though of course he kept his stony expression.

“Can we go then?” John asked, making Sherlock grimace for a moment.

Mycroft knew he sometimes felt torn between his so loyal and useful best friend and his brother, the man he secretly loved. It couldn’t be easy to deceive John all the time and it could be any less difficult to deal with John not being fond of Mycroft at all. Not for a moment Sherlock could cease to play his role as John had met them being arch enemies and had to go on believing in their 'difficult relationship'. They couldn’t even go out for dinner as Sherlock had a famous face now and they could end up together in the internet or even a classic newspaper, and how was Sherlock supposed to explain this to his partner in crime?

Their relationship was, when it was allowed to be lived, wonderful, caring and filled with love and lots of sex and nice conversations and trust but it did bring some difficulties – the lack of opportunity to spend time with each other in the first place, the lies when it occurred, and the danger of being discovered. But Mycroft knew Sherlock was, like him, gladly dealing with these challenges if that meant they could be together at all. So they would go on lying to everybody and stealing quality time as it was all they could do. What they did was forbidden, scandalous and, in everybody else's eyes, a disgrace to the world and the God neither of them believed in. The PM who had just praised Sherlock's brilliance would condemn them should he ever take notice of their incestuous bond. Their parents, always supportive, proud and protective of their two glorious sons, would disown them and probably find an early grave.

It was a fate they had to accept – it couldn’t come out, not to anyone in Mycroft's workspace, not to John Watson, let alone DI Lestrade and his police colleagues and not to their family. It had to stay a secret. To everybody. Forever. Living by this rule and still find and make time to deepen and cherish their love was the most important task either of the smart, superior Holmes brothers had ever dealt with. So far they had done a very good job. And indulging Sherlock with these treats of special sex and roleplay was one way for Mycroft to make sure his brother was happy with him, not annoyed by all the problems.

Sherlock followed the doctor to the door and left his office without turning back but then Mycroft heard him say, “Wait for me outside, I forgot my damn phone.”

And yes, there it was, on the edge of his desk. Mycroft took it in his hand, feeling tense. Then Sherlock came back and he heard John's steps recede.

“Forgot this?” he asked nonetheless in the tone he always used when they were in company – a tone of arrogance and sarcasm.

“Yes, sorry to disturb you again, you very important pencil pusher.” With this Sherlock bent forward and kissed him. It was a sweet, soft, tender kiss and he reached up with his right hand to cup Mycroft's cheek.

They didn’t dwell on it, neither of them dared, but Mycroft's heart filled with warmth and love. “Dangerous,” he whispered but winked while saying it, and Sherlock smiled.

“I know, but I had to. See you in the evening?”

“Of course. I owe you something. Shall I prepare anything?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No. Roleplay. You will love it.”

“Of course I will.” It was definitely one of his favourite things to do for their deal. No need for opposition here. Mostly not. Playing Aunt Agless for Sherlock had not been that much to his liking… especially the constrictive underwear – his dick and balls were way too big to fit tight women's panties… But the outcome had been fine.

They shared another sweet smile while Sherlock was storing his phone, and then he was gone. It took Mycroft a long moment until he could focus on his work again, but when he did, he did it with a smile.

*****

It had been a long day. One meeting had followed the other, and he had barely had time to text Sherlock. But they had agreed that Sherlock would take care of their dinner, and when he opened the door, he was welcomed by tasty odours.

He had just stored his umbrella when Sherlock appeared in the hallway. “Oh, wow! What…”

“Welcome home, sir. May I have your coat?” Sherlock asked with a stony expression. He was wearing a black suit and a white shirt, and he had even bothered with putting on a tie. One of his, Mycroft figured, and he loved the thought.

“Um… sure.” Mycroft let him take off his light coat and watched him hanging it up.

“Dinner is almost ready, sir,” Sherlock said suavely.

“You're the butler, right?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Yes, sir, of course. Just like the last two years.”

“Don't be impertinent, Holmes!” Oh, this was fun!

Sherlock bit his lip but he couldn’t quite keep the sparkling from his beautiful eyes. Mycroft could have just stared into these eyes forever and die a happy man… “I'm sorry, sir. I will refresh you and then you might want to eat dinner.”

“Refresh me,” Mycroft mused.

“Yes, sir. Will you follow me?”

“Oh, I'll follow you anywhere!”

Sherlock grinned and winked and then led the way to the downstairs bathroom. “May I undress you?” he asked when they had entered the generous room.

Mycroft nodded. “By all means.” He offered Sherlock his right foot so he could take off the shoe.

Sherlock got onto his knees to oblige.

“That's the right place for you,” Mycroft couldn’t help but tease him.

“Don't get used to it,” Sherlock mumbled with a grin.

“Sorry, what was that?” Mycroft asked sternly.

“Don't get used to it, _sir_.”

Mycroft laughed. This evening promised to be a lot of fun…

*****

If anyone had told Sherlock about a year ago that he would have sex with his brother regularly and enjoy it to pieces, he would have sent him to search for medical help. If anyone had hinted at Mycroft enjoying kisses and cuddling and telling him he loved him every single day, he would have just snorted. But the least probable scenario was this – Sherlock enjoying serving his big brother.

But he did, oh yes. Especially in this moment…

He had soaped up his hands and now he took care of every inch of his brother's tall, long-limbed body under the warm shower spray. Kneading his tense shoulders until the stiff muscles loosened up, smearing the deliciously smelling foam into the soft skin under the wired hair on his body, teasing his rosy nipples with his fingertips and then quickly sucking at each of them before he worked his way down his body to wash his well-shaped, muscular legs and his long feet, ignoring the hard cock that stood so proudly right before his face.

Mycroft groaned and panted at these rather innocent caresses already, fumbling with his dick, even poking it into Sherlock's cheek.

He looked up to him with a grin. “Sir, I think your behaviour is not exactly appropriate. I might sue you for sexual harassment!”

“Damn… Your dick is also hard, Holmes! You suck me off and then I'll suck you off!”

“Not a chance, sir. I am not gay,” he ironically quoted John Watson while he reached around his brother to wash his arse crack with deft hands.

Mycroft hissed and cursed and then he nodded in resignation. “I thought you were about to serve me but that's rather torture!”

“Patience. First dinner, then sexual pleasures.” Not that Mycroft should have doubted it would lead to this but he did look relieved.

“I'd rather have your arse for dinner…”

Sherlock smiled. “That'll be the dessert, sir.” And then he joined Mycroft under the spray and quickly showered, too, for the second time of this evening, assisted by his brother's helpful hands.

*****

Fifteen minutes later Mycroft started eating. Soup. A green salad with mango slices. Steak with tiny potatoes. Sherlock had cooked. For him. He had made dinner for him before – mostly sandwiches, sometimes some rather simple but nonetheless delicious pasta. But this was haute cuisine and Mycroft loved every bite of it. He really wouldn’t have thought Sherlock would be able to deliver this – not because he was unable to cook but because food was rather unimportant to him. But his brother knew that he appreciated a fine meal very much and it touched him very much that he had taken to such efforts to please him.

Sherlock was only serving the food – he didn’t join him. Mycroft told him to sit down and eat with him but Sherlock gave him a shocked look. “Oh, I couldn’t, sir. I'm just the butler!”

So he just brought all this fantastic food and then disappeared out of the dining room. The big dining room Mycroft had used to eat in alone. It was strange. The whole situation gave him a rather weird feeling. It almost felt as if he really was Sherlock's boss, as if there was this distance between them. He enjoyed their roleplay as always but he couldn’t wait for it to be over and get his insolent, cheeky smartarse of a little brother and lover back. He suspected this might have been Sherlock's secret plan…

When he had finished the steak and gobbled down the last bit of the salad, he impatiently waited for Sherlock to come back.

When he appeared again, dressed once more in the fancy black suit – Mycroft had put on a fresh one, for once allowed to wear a suit at home as it served the roleplay - he looked mildly offended. “You should have cherished your dinner, sir. You must have eaten it in record time.”

“How quickly I eat is none of your business, butler!”

Sherlock chuckled, not missing his slight frustration. “You are right of course. Would you like…”

“I want my dessert now!”

“Ice cream? I can offer…”

“Your arse, Sherlock!”

Sherlock laughed out loud now but he quickly regained his composure. “Your language is rather shocking today, sir.”

“Oh is it? I'll say it loud and clear: I want to eat your arse, I want to push my tongue into it as far as it is possible and I want to do that now!” His voice was hoarse and urgent and a tiny bit dangerous.

Sherlock's cheeks reddened a bit. “Very well, sir, if that's your wish. Where would you…”

“Living room.” The bedroom would take too long…

“Let me just clean up…”

“Oh, fucking hell! Now!”

“I might request a bonus for being yelled at like this by you, sir.”

“You will get it, believe me…”

That brought him a coy look. “Will I get your cock up my arse, sir?”

“You're going to feel it in your stomach.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Given your size, it could very well be my throat…”

“I'll do my best. And now move!”

“You are shockingly impolite, sir.”

“No, Holmes, my precious little butler – I'm shockingly aroused.”

“Oh, in this case… What are we waiting for?”

***** 

Sherlock, now on his knees and in all his naked glory, almost bit into the armrest of the black leather couch. What was happening to him was nearly unbearable. Mycroft could do things with his lips and tongue that no sane man could endure without going insane.

His hot mouth and his strong, wet tongue seemed to be everywhere at once – all over and right in Sherlock's hole, on his sensitive perineum, his balls, his arse cheeks. He was nibbling and licking and gently biting and invading and spending more pleasure than one man could take.

Sherlock's untouched cock was so hard that it threatened to burst any moment; if Sherlock had grabbed it, he would have come at once and he didn’t want that to happen. He wanted another part of Mycroft's anatomy inside him then.

“Oh, God, slow down or I'll spurt all over your couch right now.”

Mycroft tutted. “We should have gotten the blanket…”

Sherlock should have thought of it. But he had not foreseen that they wouldn’t even make it to the bedroom. Obviously Mycroft had been extremely turned on by this master-and-servant-roleplay, even though he had seemed a tad disturbed about it as well. And now he appeared to be determined to shred Sherlock to pieces by showering him with pleasure.

“But then,” Mycroft mused, “I'm sure you, my faithful little servant, will obediently lick your mess off the couch afterwards.”

Sherlock shuddered at his naughty suggestion. “That's perverse!”

“Oh yes, isn't it wonderful?”

“It fucking is… Now enter me, sir. You must show me where my place is.”

“You know – how about we say this isn't a roleplay but a completely new beginning for our relationship? You don't have to call me 'sir'; you can stick to my first name, but everything else – I really enjoy it.”

“I bet you do. And no – forget it!”

Mycroft laughed behind him and then Sherlock groaned when a finger slipped into his arse that was already well prepared by his brother's tongue. He heard Mycroft open the bottle of lube that they kept on a shelf next to the couch – Mycroft didn’t get any visitors so it wasn't a problem to keep it there. When his housekeeper came once a week, he stored it in his bedroom.

“Vanilla cream for my beautiful servant's creamy white arse,” Mycroft said and Sherlock groaned when the cold fluid dribbled onto and into his already stretched hole.

He bit into his own arm instead of the couch when Mycroft prepared him further, using two and then three fingers, scissoring them so Sherlock's tight muscle would easily make way for his thick cock.

Sherlock hissed when the huge, warm intruder knocked at his backdoor and then carefully slipped inside.

“Is that okay?” Mycroft asked, rubbing his cheeks with his warm, big hands.

“Yes. Fuck me, Mycroft.”

“Excuse me?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Fuck me, please, sir!”

“Ah, that's better. Prepare for the ride, my bold, beautiful butler with the bubble bum.”

“You pretentious poet…”

“I'll give you pretentious!” And then he started fucking Sherlock in earnest, and the detective held onto the armrest of the creaking couch and let himself be thrusted into oblivion.

*****

Before he and Sherlock had become a couple, Mycroft had thought about his job almost nonstop. Of course he had also thought about his brother a lot in the back of his mind but it had been thoughts of worry about him and memories of being hurt by Sherlock's sharp tongue once again. He suspected that he had thrown himself into his work even more to keep these thoughts away.

Now he didn’t waste any thought on his important occupation anymore when he was with Sherlock, and these were the moments when he allowed himself not to think at all. He only felt and enjoyed and melted and he would even go so far to say he became one with his brother.

His cock was engulfed by wet, squishy, hot tightness, his hands were buried in Sherlock's bony hips, his own hips clashing against these impossibly plush arse cheeks at every deep stroke into him, his groin was on fire and his heart was filled with sentiment. The only sentiment he allowed himself – his deep, indestructible love for his little brother, the man who was everything to him.

He knew Sherlock was close to coming and he wanted him to come all over the couch, whether he would lick his sperm off it or not. After pumping away for a few minutes, he made sure to hit Sherlock's prostate, making his brother scream and shiver all over, and it didn’t take long until his dick seemed to be strangled by the strong muscles in Sherlock's arse and he spurted shot after shot into him while Sherlock showered the couch with his come.

He gently pulled out of him, holding him by the hips so he wouldn’t collapse into the mess, and then Sherlock slipped out of his grip, knelt down on the floor and ran his tongue through his semen while Mycroft's was dribbling out of his arse.

“Wait, let me get something,” Mycroft protested even though his cock twitched again at this impossibly naughty view.

Sherlock looked up to him and seductively licked over his soiled lips. “Just following your orders, sir.”

Mycroft pulled him up and onto his lap while he was sitting down. He embraced his slim waist and urged him to sack against him. “You're the best, most obedient and most depraved butler a man could wish for.”

“Mm-hm. And you can be sure I'll never leave this house to offer my services to anyone else.”

“I should really hope so! Thank you, little brother. This was a fantastic ride.”

“A fantastic fuck you mean.”

Mycroft chuckled. “That too, my dear. Well, I think I'll clean the rest up and then we might need another shower. Let me wash you now.”

“Anytime, brother mine.”

They looked at each other and then both burst out laughing, and Mycroft thought that if he got any happier, he would probably pass out.


	4. The Confessional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A church. In the dark. The Holmes boys.  
> No actual sex will happen in the church though :) They will have nice, normal sex at home afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The confession took an unexpected turn. Makes it a bit strange. But I hope you'll still enjoy.

_Take a cab to 4 th Leonard Street at 8.45. Then walk to number 13. I’ll be waiting for you. SH_

Mycroft could have looked up this address. He didn’t though. To not spoil the surprise or to save himself from getting a heart attack before he arrived there, he didn’t know. Because of course whatever this place was, he would go there anyway. It didn’t necessarily mean he would do there whatever Sherlock had in mind (sex, in all probability) and if he did, he would not agree at once but he would always go there.

But when he had gotten out of the cab and walked up a quiet, more or less deserted street full of high trees through the darkness, only lit up by the pale glowing of two street lamps, and then saw what his destination was, he regretted not having found out before where he was heading.

“Good evening,” a deep voice startled him from behind.

He turned around, his heart rate not quite returning to normal. “A church, Sherlock? Seriously?!”

He saw his brother smile in the dark and then two arms were slung around his neck. “Yes. St. Patrick's. Solved a case for Father Harry a few weeks ago.”

“And then what – stole his keys?” His arms sneaked around Sherlock's waist by themselves. They were clearly all alone. The church lay in darkness and there was nobody on the street.

“Steal them! Of course not! I just borrowed them to get in here for my investigations and then gave them back.”

“But only after getting duplicates.”

“Of course.”

“No, Sherlock. I'm not having sex with you in a bloody church!”

“Nah. Never expected that.” Sherlock bent forward to nibble at his earlobe.

It made him sigh in pleasure. It was damn hard to not sigh in pleasure when Sherlock touched any part of his body… And his ears were especially sensitive. Like his neck. Or his collarbones. His nipples. His... Damn... His entire body was an incredibly responsive playground for his brother... “Then what? You didn’t bring me here to admire this dark building.”

“Not quite. There's a confessional in there.”

“Not very surprising for a catholic church. So what – you'll be the priest and I'll confess my sins to you?”

“Yes! There's a soutane in there.”

“You are crazy, Sherlock. What for?”

“Humour me. It will be a really different foreplay!”

“No. Let's go home. I can tell you my sins in my bed.”

“Please! It will be so special! I was in there – there are no cameras, no bugs; it's just a simple old church.”

“Just to humour _me_ – how did you find out there are no bugs in there, not that I'd have expected that anyway?”

“I have a bug detector.”

Mycroft shook his head. “I don't even dare ask…” He winced when Sherlock pulled him very close, his hand sliding over his arse.

“Please, brother. Just for a few minutes. It doesn't have to be about your real sins. Just make them up.”

“Sometimes I'm worried about you…” But he couldn’t keep the smile from his voice.

“Hey, we could switch places when you're finished. I have a lot of sins to confess!”

“Somehow I have no problem believing that… But Sherlock – what if anyone sees that we are in there?”

“No worries. My flashlight is very pale – it's bright enough to show us the way but it won't be visible outside. Nobody comes here at night. Hardly anyone comes during the day anyway. Please. Give us fifteen minutes in there, and then we'll go home and have nice, sweet sex.”

Mycroft couldn’t keep his dick from filling out at that promise, breathed against his neck while Sherlock's hands were continuing to stroke his arse. He sighed. “Why do I always give in…” Of course he knew why. Sherlock. Just Sherlock.

“Great! Come!” Sherlock took his hand and Mycroft let himself be drawn to the entrance of the innocent church.

“We'll be struck by lightning,” he mumbled.

Sherlock chuckled. “You don't even believe in any higher powers.”

“You don't either. Then why is that so tempting for you?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I honestly don't know. I just like the thrill I guess.”

“You always do.”

“Yep.” His brother fumbled with the lock and then the door opened – at least without creaking. “Come in, brother dear. And you know what? If there really is a God up there, he shouldn’t threaten us with his wrath. We love each other, more than most people out there ever love somebody. Why should he mind? Because society says it's wrong? The bible was written by people, narrow-minded old fucks who condemned everybody and everything. I'm sure if God exists, he'll be happy to see how devoted we are to each other.”

Mycroft was speechless and he stared at his brother while he was locking the door again behind them.

Sherlock caught his gaze even in the dark church. “What? You don't agree?”

Mycroft didn’t say anything but pulled him into a crushing embrace.

 *****

“This bench is horrible!”

“It's for sinners, Mycroft. Their comfortableness is not the priority I assume. But damn – this soutane is nice – it must feel great on bare skin… Do you think the priest sits in here, fumbling with his dick under the soutane when he is listening to people confessing naughty things?”

Mycroft chuckled. “Your fantasy is running wild, Sherlock. I don't think so. But who knows… nothing people do really surprises me anymore…” That included himself. After all he was actually sitting in a big cabinet with a latticed opening between him and his brother, who was wearing a 'borrowed' soutane, willing to hear his – fake - confession… And knowing himself, he would humour Sherlock and switch places later. No, he should really not be surprised about anybody anymore…

“I want one!”

“A soutane? Well, why not. I'll buy you one.” Sherlock could wear it in his house – just the soutane, nothing else. It had some sort of appeal…

“You’re the best big brother on earth, Mycroft.”

“The most indulgent one for sure… Okay, let's get started.”

“Great!” Sherlock cleared his throat. “Good evening.”

“Good evening, Father.”

There was silence for a moment. Then Sherlock chuckled. “You don't know your text?”

“We haven't been raised Catholic, Sherlock. I have no idea what I'm supposed to say.”

“Oh, sure. Don't watch any telly, no?”

“I watch the news!”

Sherlock giggled. “You're so cute, brother dear. Alright, you say, 'Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was…', then you say the date, 'and these are my sins', and then you name them.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. Religion was one of the truly stupid things in the world. One of way too many of course… “Alright then. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was… I never had one! Anyway… and these are my sins.” He stopped again. This was ridiculous. There was one sin which immediately came in mind, and he agreed with Sherlock: it wasn't one. They may be siblings and society would be in shock if their relationship came out, but for them it was their life, their love and the one thing they had both longed for. There had never been anyone else for either of them. Literally nobody had ever touched Sherlock before, and his own brief encounters long ago had been meaningless. Their relationship wasn't a sin to them and he didn’t give a damn what others, let alone the church would think about it. So what then? Make something up, as Sherlock had suggested? But then… He cleared his throat. “I had people killed.”

He heard a gurgling cough from the other side of the confessional. “What?!”

His heart started to beat faster. “Is that a surprise for you?”

Sherlock was silent for a moment. “It shouldn’t. Who then? Traitors? Terrorists?”

“Just like that. It doesn’t happen often but it does.”

“Wow…”

Mycroft felt cold all at once. He should have just told him a nice lie! But he wouldn’t have expected his brother, the man who used to call himself a 'high-functioning sociopath' to be shocked by this. He felt the urge to explain it to him. “You called me the 'British Government' towards John. I wouldn’t say I am because nobody elected me. I'm not a politician. I am… a string puller? A power broker? Unnameable because my position is so unique? I'm the one to overview it all, even the MI5. I work very closely together with the MI6. So yes – if there is someone who is a threat to the public, to the Royal Family, a threat of grand dimensions, I might say, 'take him out'. I don't have sleepless nights because of it.” _And I hope I won't have them now because you drop me…_ He knew he wouldn’t survive that. He wondered why he had brought this heavy subject up at all. Probably because he wanted Sherlock to know and accept each aspect of him. Eight months in their relationship, they had still not gotten there. He wouldn't say they knew everything about each other; he was sure Sherlock had plenty of depths he had not discovered yet. They didn't have to know everything. But something that important should be no secret. But perhaps it had been a huge mistake.

He heard the door on Sherlock's side of the confessional opening up and he sacked against the wooden back but then his door was ripped open and Sherlock grabbed his hands while getting on his knees before him in the small cabin.

“Don't you dare think it repulses me! I just didn’t know that! I never thought… It was stupid of course… Wow… You are so… important.”

Mycroft shook his head, more about himself than anything else. He was really a party pooper. “Well, sorry if that shocked you, brother mine. I really thought you were aware of these implications. I don't _enjoy_ giving such orders either. It just… has to be done. I never sign any papers by the way. My name doesn't appear anywhere. I'm a phantom. But sometimes I'm a phantom that has to make the decision of life and death.”

Sherlock nodded so hard that his curls bounced. “Yes. Sure.” He took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Mycroft tousled his hair. “Do you want to leave?” He was quite sure Sherlock wouldn’t leave _him_ but he could imagine that he had spoilt his fun about this roleplay with his stupid honesty.

“No! We'll go on. I'm sure there are other things you can confess.”

Lighter ones, he meant. Mycroft nodded. “Yes. Go back, Father. You have never been supposed to see my face.” There was something between the lines of that joke and Sherlock pressed his hand.

“I won't tell anyone. Course not. Not John or anybody. Shall they go on thinking you are a boring politician.”

Mycroft smiled. “I can totally live with that.” He stroked Sherlock's cheek. “Are we fine?”

Sherlock nodded and then blinked rapidly. “Is it bad that it does turn me on? A bit? You, deciding if somebody will be arrested or killed?”

Mycroft finally relaxed. “I should have known that it wouldn’t shock you. At least not in a negative way… No, Sherlock. I don't think it's bad. Power might indeed be a little sexy. I'm not proud of it though. It's part of my job, that's it. Bad people have to deal with tough decisions.”

“Yes. Okay. I'll go back then.” His head reappeared in the door a second after he had retreated. “I love you. Whatever you have to confess. Whatever you do. It's a part of you, and I love each part of you.”

His heart was making strange movements at this statement. “Come here…” he rasped out.

It was a very limited space and it was certainly not made for that, but they managed to share an extended kiss. A kiss involving lips, tongues, hands, teeth and hearts. Finally Sherlock returned to his place. “So, son,” he said in this pants-tightening deep voice. “What other sins do you have to confess?”

“I have inappropriate thoughts when I work sometimes. Every day. In every minute. Concerning a very sexy man.”

“Ooh, tell me more! Is he really hot? What would you like to do with him?”

“You are not masturbating now, Sherlock, are you?”

“Never! That would be a sin!”

*****

They didn’t make it out after fifteen minutes. It was more than an hour. After Sherlock had given him absolution, managing to not make himself come before at Mycroft's colourful and truthful descriptions of his daydreams about him but certainly not being very far from it, given the slapping noises and his harsh panting from the other side of the confessional, Mycroft had put on the soutane and Sherlock had started his confession, beginning with some childhood episodes.

_“I put ice cream into grandmother's shoes when I was five.”_

_“I cut holes into most of your socks and you thought your feet had grown!”_

_“I put dirty underwear back in your wardrobe and you didn’t realise it was worn.”_

_“I nicked dozens of handcuffs and identity cards in the Yard and pretended to be a policeman.”_

_"I broke in a bank. A laboratory. A jail. Just to prove that I can."_

It had gone on and on and Mycroft had sat there, grinning from ear to ear. His brother had always been a handful. Finally he had shut him up as they would have sat there until dawn if he had not interfered and had gotten rid of the soutane. He was determined to really get Sherlock one. His brother had been right – it was sexy…

Sherlock put it back into its place reluctantly. “Good that we didn’t get to play here seriously. The priest would have come back to me, urging me to find out who made the sperm stains on his fancy dress…”

Mycroft grinned and took his hand. They made it out of the silent, dark church and Sherlock locked it.

“I'll keep the keys,” he mumbled. “And now let's go home. Still in the mood for sex?”

“Always.” It would be a short night for him as he was expected in a meeting at nine the next morning but he didn’t care. He would survive it.

*****

It was really nice to lie down on his huge, comfortable bed. It had a very thick mattress and it needed it... It had seen so many sex-filled nights now. Not enough of course. It could never be enough.

Mycroft was naked and so was his brother. Like it had to be in this room. The detective was prepped up on his elbows, watching him grabbing the lube with a smile.

"Aren't you disappointed we didn't get down and dirty in the church?" Mycroft just had to ask him. "I'm sure you originally had it in mind."

Sherlock smiled. "I knew you wouldn't be up to that. It was meant as some special sort of foreplay. And no, of course I'm not disappointed! We made a new experience together and I did learn something new about you."

That was one way to put it... Mycroft stopped coating his already stiff cock with lube – Sherlock had kissed him wildly, undressing him in the go, pulling at his dick as if he was determined to rip it off. As usual actually. " _You_ didn't, did you? Kill anybody?"

"I'm sure you would already know about that, Mycroft. I know your cameras follow me wherever I go."

"Not everywhere... Not all the time." He would have liked it though. Having his brother under control during each minute of each day. Sherlock was brave. He was reckless. Crazy sometimes. He never avoided dangerous situations. Thankfully, so far he had come out of them in one piece and without serious injuries. His drug episodes had been worse...

"I'm shocked! But no. I didn't. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't do it if it was necessary. John did, for me."

Mycroft was well aware of that. The cab driver. The day after they had met. The loyal little man...

"You're not still jealous of him, are you?" Sherlock groaned when Mycroft lifted his thighs with his left arm to put a handful of sticky fluid onto his hole with the right hand. As they had sex so often, Sherlock didn't need any thorough preparation anymore. Getting lubed up and then getting penetrated slowly and carefully in the beginning, that was about it.

"No."

"Liar."

"I'm not. I'm glad you have him in your life. He's reckless, too, but still closer to reason than you are."

"Thanks," Sherlock said dryly but he smiled. He knew that Mycroft was right of course.

"The truth hurts." Mycroft let two fingers slide into the hot entrance, making sure the lube would be everywhere it had to be and that he was loosened up enough. The truth might hurt but he would never hurt his brother.

"God, that feels good. Come now, take me. I need it."

"Do you?" They had foregone any tender, physical foreplay this time. They loved it both but sometimes it needed to be skipped.

Mycroft placed himself on all fours above Sherlock and pushed his dick against Sherlock's hole, feeling the wide head breaching the muscle. When it started to slide in with reasonable ease, he lowered his body on Sherlock's, being welcomed by two arms around his neck and the kiss of wonderful, full lips. It was still his favourite position – covering Sherlock's body with his, being able to kiss him while he was gently pushing into him. It was not only about physically overpowering him even thought that might add to it. It felt like _protecting_ him from all harms while making him feel as great as he could. He knew Sherlock understood it.

Sherlock moaned when he slid in completely after a few slow, deep strokes.

"You feel so great around my dick," he whispered, not caring that he sounded like the cliché of a porn actor.

"You feel so great in me," Sherlock responded, massaging his shoulders. “My sexy, hairy beast.”

Mycroft chuckled against his ear. “'Hairy beast'?! You bad, blunt, bratty brother!”

Sherlock laughed out loud beneath him. “God help me – the crazy king of awful alliterations is fucking me!”

“Yes, and he loves it.” Mycroft started moving faster and Sherlock groaned, putting the soles of his feet onto his arse to urge him to give him more, take him deeper, possessing him as thoroughly as he could.

“And I love you, big brother.”

“Will you wear this sexy soutane for me? Just that? Here? Make me just lift it up to expose your cute little hole for me and slip inside you?”

“Fuck, yes! I love it when you talk dirty!”

Mycroft would have never expected he was capable of it. But then – he would have never expected to ever be in this position. “You corrupted me, cunning sweetheart.”

“Didn’t take much! Will you wear it for me, too? Be Father Mycroft, punishing me for my sins?”

Now that was a thought… Mycroft thrusted even harder at it, making his brother groan and whimper. “Yes. Father Mycroft will not be amused! Making you say your prayers!”

Sherlock giggled, meeting his hard rhythm with vigour and Mycroft could name the exact second when his cock finally met Sherlock's prostate. “Yes! Father, forgive me! God, yes!” With this religious outburst he spilled between them, the hot fluid shooting up to Mycroft's chin, covering Sherlock's throat.

Mycroft followed him within seconds, filling him up with his sperm, his face buried in Sherlock's neck, collapsing onto him.

They stayed like this for a long time – entwined, connected, messy and content.

This was it. The one thing Mycroft lived for. The one man he lived for.


	5. The Double Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock got his own wax figure in Madame Tussauds. And it works as an inspiration for a certain other purpose.

### Two months ago

 

_“You looked so cute, Sherlock. Adorable even.”_

_“Pfff. I am not cute, Mycroft! Let alone adorable!”_

_“Yes you are. And especially then.”_

_“Alright, if it makes you happy – I'm the cutest and most adorable consulting detective to have ever walked the earth… Kiss me now!”_

_“And you looked so proud, posing next to it.”_

_“Why would I be proud! It's just a piece of bloody wax!”_

_“Who would have thought you'd end up in Madame Tussauds! **I** am proud of you!”_

_“Thank you, brother. Can we now…”_

_“I will go there soon. Have a close look.”_

_“And probably grab the silly thing's poor arse…”_

_“No. I cannot do this. But I can look.”_

_“Well, you want to see my arse? Here it is. A lot softer than the bloody figure's bum I'm sure. Waiting for you to grab it and fill it up.”_

_“What does John think about it?”_

_“For God's sake, Mycroft, I don't fucking care! Probably he's jealous as he didn’t get his own figure! Or keen on grabbing its arse, too! No, sod that – of course he isn’t, no need to send a hit squad after him! Now move before I go out and let the first passer-by fuck my neglected bum!”_

_“Alright, my impatient, insolent, intolerably irritating little brother, let me take care of you.”_

_“I hate you and your abominable alliterations!”_

_“No, you don't.”_

_“No, I don't. Love you.”_

_“Love you, too. And this cute little bum.”_

_“Ah. Finally!”_

 

### Now

 

Sherlock yawned and stretched in his bed. Damn early for waking up. He had gone to bed rather late. Of course. He had visited Mycroft. Couldn’t stay over with him. Of course not…

But at least they'd spent some nice hours together. Dinner. Kissing. Cuddling. Sappy, slow, soft sex. Damn… Mycroft's obsession with alliterations was infective as it seemed…

He had left very reluctantly. Finally in bed, he'd had some nice dreams about his brother. Would have loved to have some more. Dreams at least, if not allowed to have more sex.

And then his sleep had been annoyingly interrupted. But what had woken him up at bloody eight in the morning?

Then he heard a noise from the living room. He narrowed his eyes. _That_ had woken him up! What was going on? It sounded… No. John wouldn’t be laughing like a maniac alone in the living room early in the morning. But actually he had to be. There was no other voice. No sound from the telly. Too long and hefty to be reading a joke in the bloody internet or the newspapers. Had he become mental over night?

Sherlock sighed. There was only one way to find out… He grabbed the sheet he used instead of a blanket to sleep under and covered his nudity with it, and then he stumbled out of his bedroom to find out what Doctor John Watson found so damn funny.

He stopped dead when he entered the living room and saw John sitting on the couch with his laptop on his knees – laughing even harder when he saw Sherlock coming in. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

John had tears in his eyes. “Sherlock,” he choked out, giggling like a silly little schoolgirl.

“Yes, that's me. What is it?”

John laughed only harder, his cheeks flushed unhealthily.

Sherlock stood there, wrapped in his sheet, wondering if he should throw something at his annoying flatmate. “You're going to tell me what's so funny and you're going to do it now or I swear I'll strangle you with this sheet!”

It took John a moment until he was able to speak. “Hehehehehe, sorry. You remember the wax figure? Your figure?”

“I'm not senile, John. I do. What about it? Did anybody burn it? Rape it?”

This ripped more hysterical giggles out of his friend. Sherlock glared at him, wishing he had gotten dressed before so he could haul him from the couch and shake him, but that would look rather silly if the sheet naturally dropped and left him standing there naked.

John didn’t miss his exasperation and visibly tried to get his senses together. “Sorry, mate. Well, someone… It fuelled someone's creativity. Oh God, you'll freak out!”

“I have no idea what you're talking about but I warn you for the very last time - if you don't tell me at once…”

“Alright, Sherlock, just get over here and have a look! Do you have a lawyer by the way?”

*****

It had been another long, dreadful day. Idiots. Everybody he ever had to deal with was an idiot. They were everywhere. And especially they were around him all day.

He unlocked the door and stepped into his house. Finally free from idiots until the morning. If nothing scandalous or kingdom-threatening occurred and made him return to the bloody office.

“Sherlock?” he shouted, knowing his brother was there. He could feel his presence. And Sherlock had told him he would await him. Certainly with a request for mind-blowing, special, extra-naughty sex. He had not quite solved a case for him but given him some advice via texting that had helped Mycroft survive the day without ending in prison for strangling his boss. So he had told Sherlock he was up to rewarding him. It had been too long again anyway. Boring times that didn’t require the help of the smart consulting detective that was his little brother. And since John was always with him and Anthea noticed every time Sherlock showed up in his office, he just couldn’t make any cases up. He didn’t have a problem with it as he loved their normal, sweet sex to pieces. He knew Sherlock did, too but his little brother actually lived for the more exciting sexual adventures (that Mycroft enjoyed as well very much). Of course they could have them anyway but it wouldn’t be the same for him. Half of Sherlock's fun was to convince Mycroft every time to do what he had hatched in his brilliant, naughty brain.

He hung up his coat and crossed the hallway. The house was silent. No sign of Sherlock. And still he could have sworn he was there…

When he entered the living room, his look was drawn to the couch at once. The blanket… This horrible, coloured, alien insult for his eyes was spread on it again, covering the long form of his beautiful little brother, lying on his side, his face buried half in a pillow. He stopped dead, the conclusions running wild in his brain.

_Sherlock never takes a nap. And even if he did, he would have woken up by me coming in now. He doesn't move. He's too pale. He doesn't breathe. He's…_

“Sherlock,” he croaked, stumbling forward, his heart a piece of ice, his stomach lifting. And then he shrieked when he was embraced from behind and warm breath hit his neck.

“Sorry, darling, Mycroft. Never thought you'd jump to _this_ conclusion!”

His head turned so fast that his neck made an awful sound. “Sherlock! I thought… What the fuck is going on here?!”

“Sorry. I'm alright. It's all fine!”

He almost desperately returned the kiss of those sinful lips, his arms tightly wrapped around the slim waist. “What is that?!” he asked then, his heart still hammering. “Don't tell me you broke into Madame Tussauds and stole that bloody figure!”

Sherlock smiled and stroked over his hair. “No. It's not made of wax. It's silicone, and it's anatomically a lot more correct than the wax figure. Much more than it was to be expected actually…”

“What? You mean…”

“Yes. It's a sex doll… A very expensive one after all.”

“You had a sex doll made?! For what – finally being able to fuck yourself?”

Sherlock laughed out loud. “No, honey. I might be a little vain but…”

“A little?”

“Shut up.” He grinned and finally Mycroft started to feel calmer. “They didn’t ask me for permission! Someone discovered it in an online shop and posted the link under John's blog. He almost died from laughing…”

“And then what? You forced them to give you one?”

“Close. I told them to stop selling them or I'd sue them. And they had to give them to me. All ten of them… It was the first day they advertised them and nobody had the chance to buy one.”

Mycroft chuckled. “Wow. Ten! That qualifies for a big orgy.”

Sherlock laughed. “Yes! Well… They have hard cocks but they don't move by themselves, you know. So a threesome has to be sufficient.”

“A… A… what?”

A smug smile and a wink were the answer.

“No.”

“Oh yes. My reward. You won't let me do a video, which I still find very disappointing by the way, but you will let me watch you fuck this doll. Among other things.”

“No I won't.” Why should he have sex with a motionless piece of silicone if he could have the real deal!

Sherlock walked over to the couch and pulled the blanket away. He had dressed the doll with a white shirt but nothing else.

“Holy fu-…”

“Yep. His cock is bigger than mine. And the arse is very accurate. And he has a nice, tight hole… He feels very real! You can't put your cock into his mouth though but he wouldn’t be able to suck you anyway. You still got me for that! Come on – touch our new friend! Or your other little brother, if you want.”

It was so strange. The features of the doll were absolutely stunning. It did look exactly like Sherlock's face – the eye colour, the cheekbones, the lips… It was all there. Whoever had dared make these dolls without Sherlock's consent were certainly untrustworthy, immoral people but they were very good at it…

“Imagine, Mycroft… You can fuck him while I fuck you…”

Mycroft swallowed. And Sherlock grinned.

*****

“Kiss him!”

He expected a brotherly eye-roll and wasn't disappointed. “Must I? I doubt he will kiss me back!”

Sherlock grinned. “Do me the favour, brother dear.” He held his breath when Mycroft reluctantly lowered his face to brush a peck on the lips of his lookalike. It was strange to watch him. He had never seen Mycroft kiss someone else, and he'd never wanted to see it. But damn – he wouldn’t get jealous of a doll that above all was basically him!

Mycroft caught his gaze, deducing him correctly as usual. “Really, Sherlock?”

“Shut up. I want to kiss him, too.”

Mycroft chuckled while he joined them on the mattress on the other side of the doll, which was lying on its back in the middle of the bed, the big, forever stiff cock standing up proudly, the eyes open and looking somehow curious. Sherlock bent over and kissed it, too. It tasted like plastic… Not sexy at all.

“Damn… That looks odd.” But Mycroft didn’t sound as if he minded it too much…

A strange thought popped up in Sherlock's brain. “What do you reckon – if I had a twin brother, would you be in love with him, too?”

“If you had a twin, I would have been resting in my grave for a long time already,” Mycroft retorted dryly, and Sherlock grinned.

“No, seriously! The same looks, the same brain…”

Mycroft slapped his thigh. “If you had a twin, we wouldn’t be together at all, Sherlock. You would have fallen for him and never wasted a thought on me.”

“What? You really believe that?” Sherlock shook his head vehemently. “He and I would have never gotten along, trying to outsmart each other all the time.”

“Hm. You did the same with me!”

“Yes, but… You were older, and I knew you were smarter. I only wanted to live up to you. And it frustrated me that I never could. But I accepted it, without telling you of course. You were seven years older so of course you had so much more experience. But he would have been exactly as old as I am. And… he's so thin. I don't like that.”

“Oh, I see. You like your men old and fat then?”

For a moment Sherlock thought he meant it but then he saw the twinkle in his blue eyes. “Fuck, Mycroft! You're thirty-six and you haven't been chubby, not fat! since you'd been… fourteen? I just made these diet jokes because… I don't know why…” And why had they never spoken about these things before?

“It's alright, little brother. I know I drove you mental, too. I was lording over you all the time. It was your way to lash out, make me feel bad.”

Sherlock swallowed. “Did I?” He knew the answer even before seeing the sad smile on Mycroft's face. And why had he not cared about that back then? He hadn't been in love with Mycroft then though. But damn - he had been the last time… The night John had shot the cab driver and Mycroft had shown up on the crime scene.

_“Putting on weight again?”_

_“Losing it, in fact.”_

He managed to shove the doll to the side while scrambling over it, snuggling up against his brother. “I'm so sorry…” Why had he said it? He had known he was in love with his big brother and he had been pretty sure that Mycroft was in love with him as well. Why had he still felt the urge to hurt him?

“It's alright!” Mycroft pulled him close. “Sweet, bratty brother. Beautiful little bugger.”

Sherlock chuckled against his neck. “Idiot.”

“Yes. Shall I fuck the doll now?”

“Only if you want to. If you think it's silly and it doesn’t turn you on, we can just push him onto the ground and go at it by ourselves.”

“So generous. But he looks like you and he has a hole in the arse that's waiting to take my big dick. I can't resist him.”

“You are the best.”

“No, you are, little brother.”

*****

“How does it feel?” Sherlock's eyes were sparkling, and he was idly massaging his hard-on.

Well, how did he feel? It was hard to tell… The doll did feel good around his dick; Mycroft hadn't asked Sherlock but he assumed the company would have wanted to sell these copies of his brother for at least 2.000 pounds. It was done so well. He would have killed for having it before they had gotten together. But now that Sherlock was sitting on the bed next to him, watching him pounding away in it, obviously very turned on by it…

“It feels like fucking your corpse,” he answered bluntly, wiping unwelcome memories of his brother, dizzy or even unconscious in a drug den, from his mind. He had not looked much different than this doll, albeit being more or less dressed. It had been horrible and it had never turned him on to see him so helpless. Or perhaps he thought of it now because very deep inside it had… He would have gotten away with it – taking what he wanted. But he had never done it, and that was what counted.

“What?!” Sherlock laughed out loud but then he shrugged. “I see your point! But my corpse wouldn't have a boner…”

“It would make it a lot easier if the doll didn’t have that, either. I could have it flat faced on the bed instead of doggy style. I'm afraid I'll break his dick off if I try that…”

Sherlock chuckled. “I have nine more of them so it would not be a problem.”

“What are you going to do with them? Where are they at all? In your bedroom?!”

“In the cellar, except for one. Not sure what I will do with them…”

“Giving one to this petite pathologist that's so fond of you?”

“Ah! You're not jealous of Molly, are you! I'm sure she would love to have one.”

Mycroft was sure about that as well. “No! I don't want any of them in anyone else's hands!” Mycroft burst out and blushed.

“Hey!” Sherlock scrambled forward to put a hand on his neck. “Okay! Nobody gets one. But you can keep this one if you want. I want you to! And if we can't meet…”

“Yes… He's quite nice actually. Not bratty at all… No exhausting foreplay to get him going. No need to whisper sweet nothings to make him comply…” He winked at Sherlock while he continued fucking the doll, receiving a playful glare.

He was embarrassed by his jealousy but damn – he didn’t want anyone to have sex with even a lookalike of his brother. People shouldn’t even be allowed to _think_ of him during any sexual activity. He was being silly and he knew it. But he just couldn’t have that, period.

“Nobody will ever take me away from you, Mycroft,” Sherlock said softly, easily deducing his thoughts. “And whoever tries to get you will find a nasty end.”

“Oh yes?” Mycroft felt his climax coming closer.

“Yes! You are mine and mine alone! Well – mine and his!” He pointed at the doll.

“Sherlock… get behind me…”

“Oh yes!” In an instant Sherlock lined up behind him and sneaked a hand between his cheeks.

“Lube!”

“Damn…”

He heard the bottle being squeezed and then he was penetrated by two deft, sticky fingers, hitting against his prostate in an instant. Engulfed by the tightness of the doll and stimulated inside, he came with a loud moan. Half way he pulled out and spilled over the back of the doll. Sherlock gasped behind him.

“Fuck, that looks so hot.” His warm breath on Mycroft's neck made the older man shudder.

 “Lick it off of him,” Mycroft requested, his arm reaching behind to pinch Sherlock's arse.

“Pervert!” But Sherlock giggled and crawled to the doll to do as he'd been told.

Mycroft groaned when he watched his brother licking his come off the silicone skin. “Fuck him, too, Sherlock. I prepared him well for you.”

“God, you're getting naughtier and naughtier!”

Which was certainly true. Their sexcapades had definitely expanded his horizon. He still loved fucking Sherlock missionary style the most but he absolutely enjoyed having foreplay with roleplay. And this doll was a stimulation for sure.

He watched with his teeth worrying his bottom lip when Sherlock lined up behind Sherlock. “How did they call him?” he asked, a little late.

Sherlock grinned. “Guess!”

“Hm. Sherlock Holmes?”

“Nah. They were not quite as dull or quite as brave…” He pushed his dick into his doppelganger and moaned. “Fuck, am I also so tight?”

“Yes you are.” Mycroft could feel his dick starting to harden again. Wow… “So?”

“They called him 'Consulting Cunt'.”

Mycroft laughed out loud. “No, they didn’t!”

Sherlock giggled. “Yes, they did! I copied it from their site. They took it off but I wanted a proof.”

His bony hips were moving rhythmically now, and Mycroft couldn’t help but gaping. The doll stared with open eyes as if disbelieving what was happening, and it was so amazing to see Sherlock basically fucking himself. He wondered if he would manage to ride on the puppet – without Sherlock being around.

“You really like it,” Sherlock stated with a wink, pounding even harder now.

“Yes. But I want to finish you.”

Sherlock hastily pulled out and threw himself on his back, spreading his thighs. “I'm close, come, suck me off.”

In an instant Mycroft was kneeling in that inviting space and wrapped his lips around his brother's hard, red dick, moaning at the taste. This was what this doll couldn’t offer – no infatuating taste, no little pleasure drops leaking on his tongue, no wiggling in arousal, no hard grip into his hair… He somehow knew they would have phone sex while he was fucking it, it was just too tempting. But it could never, ever replace the real deal.

When Sherlock pulsed into his mouth, he was hard as a rock once more. After a moment of recovery, Sherlock urged him to lie down and then he placed the doll on him and managed to fumble Mycroft's dick into it, holding it from behind. “Fill him again, come on!” His face appeared right next to the doll's head. It was a little disconcerting.

“I want _you_ , Sherlock.”

“I'm not prepared. But we'll do that later, after I've fed you.”

“God help me,” Mycroft mumbled, but he started moving his hips, thrusting into the silicone boy once more. Since Sherlock fumbled expertly with his balls and tickled his perineum, it didn’t take him long to come again. Panting and sweating he collapsed into the pillows, and he smiled with closed eyes when two heads came to rest on his chest. He wrapped one arm around his warm, smooth, giggling brother and embraced the cool, motionless doll with the other one.

“He's poking my thigh,” he mumbled, kissing Sherlock's forehead.

“He didn’t come after all. He'll forever be stiff and unsatisfied.”

“Poor boy.”

“Yes, he really is. Thank you, Mycroft. For indulging me with every crazy thing I throw at your feet.”

“You rather throw them onto my dick… But you're welcome. You know I enjoy it. And I love to make you happy. In any way that I can.”

Sherlock kissed the sensitive spot behind his ear. “You always make me happy. And if there's any fantasy you want to have fulfilled, just tell me. I will do it all.”

“Hm. Even please Mrs Hudson with that big dick of yours while I'm watching?”

“Mycroft!”

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I think you have enough fantasy for both of us; I'll just go on going with the flow. But I would love to take a bath with you after dinner. Are you up to that?”

“Course I am. I think our new brother here needs a bath as well.”

“He surely does… Well, feed me, brother mine, and then let's soak, all three of us.”

“Thank God for your huge tub.”

“Yes, thank God.” _For you, Sherlock. For you._


	6. The Iceman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something a little rougher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Irene and Moriarty don't exist in this universe, somebody else had to come up with the "Iceman" nickname. 
> 
> Not sure how many more chapters will be to come. Let me know if you like this. And please - no kinkshaming...

“Well, thank you very much, Sherlock, Doctor Watson. It took you long enough to solve this case though...”

Sherlock glared at him. “Well, Mycroft! If we had been allowed to talk to him directly, we would have finished it much quicker!”

Mycroft leaned back in his chair with raised eyebrows. “I couldn’t let you do this, could I? Such things need to be handled discreetly and delicately.”

“And then you sent _us_?” John retorted, quite rightfully.

“It couldn’t have been done by an agent,” Mycroft said, knowing how stupid that was. Of course he could have sent one of his own men on this mission but that would not have been to Sherlock's liking. Or his own… He would never openly admit it but he tremendously enjoyed his deal with Sherlock – special sex for special services. He didn’t have to say it loud of course as Sherlock knew that anyway.

“Naturally not. His agents are all idiots.”

Mycroft suppressed a grin in the last second. “Polite as ever, brother dear.”

A knock at the door startled him. “Yes?”

It was opened and a man poked his head in. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but you wanted to see the papers at once?”

“Sure, come in, Agent Sterling. This is my brother, Sherlock Holmes, and his partner, Doctor John Watson.”

The young agent with the blond undercut, one-hundred-and-ninety centimetres of lean muscles, slipped into his office. His light-blue eyes sparkled and he beamed at Sherlock with his perfectly white teeth. “Oh, I heard so much about you, Mr Holmes! And Doctor Watson! It's an honour!” He reached his hand out to Sherlock, who looked up and down on him before he reluctantly took and shook it.

“Thank you,” he said with narrowed eyes. “Do you like to work for my brother?”

There was an undertone that made Mycroft feel a little tense. But then – his brother didn’t actually like people very much…

“Oh, of course! He's awesome! So brilliant!”

Mycroft blushed a little. He was not used to be complimented by his staff. Of course he knew the man could have hardly said the opposite, let alone in his presence, but it had sounded genuine. Sherlock noticed his embarrassment and his eyes narrowed even more. This wasn’t a show for John, let alone for Agent Sterling. He was jealous. Jealous of a man whose first name was unknown to Mycroft. He vaguely seemed to remember it started with an 'E'. Edward? Edgar? Emerson? He had no idea and he didn’t care! It was ridiculous of Sherlock to even consider he was interested in him!

“We'll leave you to your boring duties now, Mycroft,” Sherlock snarled. “Come, John. Pizza at _Angelo's_?

“You can bet on it. Bye Mycroft!”

“Goodbye, Sherlock, Doctor Watson.” But Sherlock didn’t even look at him again before he stalked out of his office, and he didn’t like that at all. Sherlock had no bloody reason to be jealous.

It took him a lot of effort to concentrate on the papers the young man had brought him. When he texted Sherlock a little later, he got a very cool reply. He knew better than to insist and explain Sherlock on the phone, let alone via texting that he had nothing to fear. He just wondered if Sherlock would drop by later on so he could do it in person.

*****

The first thing he saw when he entered his house this evening was Sherlock's coat, thrown onto the floor next to the door. Directly under the wardrobe. It could have fallen off of course but it rather looked as if it had been smashed on the ground. With vigour…

It was late, much later than Mycroft had wanted to leave the office, but the bloody PM had come by with some important people from the CIA and there had been no way to excuse himself.

But now he was here. And Sherlock was here. But somehow it didn’t feel as if it was reward-super-hot-sex day.

He straightened his back. “Sherlock?” No answer. But then he heard a noise from the living room. It sounded as if someone was pacing through it. He took a deep breath and followed the sound.

“Hello, Sherlock.”

His brother stopped running around and stared at him. He didn’t say a word.

Mycroft felt rather insecure. “Well, sorry for being so late but I had no chance to escape earlier.”

“I bet!” Sherlock all but spat out.

“I'm sorry?” This was new. He had never seen such wrath in his brother's eyes and it wasn't a pretty sight. Well, his eyes were always pretty, even now, but this look… It was a look nobody would want directed at them, let alone when you were his lover… He didn’t know where it had come from and he even less knew how to deal with it.

“I bet Agent Sterling didn’t let you go! He couldn’t be without his awesome, brilliant boss! Did he sit on your lap while you were reading these fucking papers? Fumbled with his cute arse?”

“Sherlock! It was the PM who didn’t let me go and no, I didn’t fumble with his arse!” It was a rather lame attempt at joking them out of this ridiculous situation and he knew it wouldn’t work. “Darling, you know I'm not interested in anyone but you. I'm in love with you! Always been, always will. Forget him now and tell me which reward you want for your help! I'm open to anything!”

“Oh are you now!” Sherlock's eyes sparkled darkly, and all at once Mycroft understood.

They were in the middle of a roleplay already. The jealousy was real, he could tell that, but Sherlock didn’t seriously believe he was cheating on him. He was turning it into a roleplay, but Mycroft had no idea where this was supposed to lead. In all probability not even Sherlock knew that. Usually they agreed beforehand what the scenario was about and who would play which role even though they left each other a lot of room for improvisation. This unexpected unpredictability was kind of terrifying but also exciting. As long as none of them was about to get hurt for real, Mycroft was game.

“You have no reason to be jealous!” he said with narrowed eyes, pointing at his brother.

“You must think I'm an idiot, Mycroft! I saw how you looked at him! And he at you! He wanted to drop on his knees and suck your huge dick, right in front of me and John! Let the spit and the sperm fly!”

He sounded completely serious. Was he right? Was the agent interested in him? Mycroft had not noticed anything like it. But despite his intelligence he wasn’t exactly an expert at detecting such things, let alone towards himself. It didn’t matter anyway. If nobody was interested in him at all except for his brother, he would call himself happy. He had no interest whatsoever in anybody else than Sherlock. But this was a roleplay after all. At least he hoped it was…

“Well, he's not exactly ugly, is he!” he snarled. “I wasn't aware I'm not allowed to look at someone!”

For a moment he froze when Sherlock's eyes widened with hurt and doubt but then he could see how Sherlock deduced him, seeing that Mycroft was just playing his part. The atmosphere changed at once, both relaxing and getting fully ready for the game even though Mycroft still didn’t know what it was exactly about. Well, in which kind of sex it was supposed to end to be precise. But he was willing to let Sherlock guide him wherever he would like to go with it.

“Ha! I knew it!” Sherlock exclaimed, sounding more drama-queen-like than Mycroft had ever heard him. He had to admit that he liked it… Adorable little bugger, his baby brother…  It was hard not to grin but he more or less managed to keep the scowl on his face.

“You can't wait to have him suck your dick!” Sherlock accused.

“And why not! I'm sure he's very good at it, as obedient as he is! In opposite to other people!”

Sherlock fumed, gesturing hectically with both arms. “You're disgusting! I hate you!”

“You take that back!”

“The fuck I do!”

“I will not have you speak with me like this, William Sherlock Scott Holmes!”

Sherlock's lips twitched for a second at this use of his full name. Mycroft knew very well how much he hated his other two first names. But all was fair in love and war. Or rather game. “Oh really? And what do you want to do against it?”

No. He wasn’t really looking for _that_ …

“You weak, lazy, nail polishing office sitter!” Sherlock insulted him in this overdramatic voice.

Oh yes, he was actually _asking_ for that… But would Mycroft be able to pull it off?

“You can't wait to put your tongue in his arse – right on your desk so you won't have to move!”

Yes, he would be able to… probably… perhaps…

“My bedroom! Now!” he said sternly.

Sherlock snorted. “What, you want to move your limp body upstairs already? Are you sure you'll manage the stairs without having dinner before?”

Actually Mycroft _was_ hungry… But they could eat later. This impertinence cried for what Sherlock was begging for – punishment.

He grabbed his brother's arm. “You come with me and I swear you'll be very sorry for all these nasty remarks very soon!”

“Do tell!” Sherlock was almost running next to him so it was Mycroft who had to keep up even though he was supposed to be the man in charge. Well, they were totally inexperienced in such games after all.

He wasn’t sure who was dragging whom upstairs but he was eager to find out how well they could play this game when it had been taken to the bed.

*****

“Undress, you insolent, nerve-wracking menace!”

“What – no alliterations? I'm disappointed!”

Mycroft couldn’t suppress a completely inappropriate chuckle at this but he immediately glared at Sherlock again. “What did I just say?”

Sherlock huffed and started stripping. He was only wearing a thin, black shirt and black jeans so he was standing in his naked glory very quickly.

Mycroft grabbed him as soon as he straightened his back after removing his trousers, securing his upper body with his right arm and slapping him on this plush, inviting arse.

“Damn!” Sherlock hissed. “You brutal, baby-brother beating… monster!”

Mycroft giggled against his neck and slapped him again, still holding him in an iron grip. The slaps had been so light that the smooth skin on Sherlock's arse had not even reddened slightly. “I'm sorry, baby, I can't do that.” He let Sherlock go and smiled when his challenging baby brother immediately slung his arms around his neck.

“But I deserve it!”

He sounded all serious and Mycroft melted. He kissed him lightly on the lips. “Yes you do. For honestly believing I could be interested in anyone else. I don't even recall the man's first name. He's an agent like all the others. Meaningless in every sense than the professional one.” He let his right hand slide over Sherlock's long, silky back. “I doubt very much that he wants anything from me. Probably he would please me if he thought it would help his career, I don't know, and it doesn't matter. It's not going to happen. I don't want anyone else but you. Never have, never will.”

“There were men before me,” Sherlock whispered, sounding insecure.

“That's worrying you? Yes, there were. Little more than a handful. A few dates, a bit of groping, sometimes intercourse with me on top. All very civilised and all very dull. Trying to get over my desires for you in the beginning with it. Then I realised that won't work. After that – networking. A little stress relief. But my heart always belonged to you. I always thought of you when I was with someone.”

“You should have told me!”

Mycroft pulled him even closer. “Yes. But I would have never expected you would return my feelings. Not in this way. And you didn’t back then!" They really had a long history together. "You were a sweet child and you surely remember how close we were at this time. As soon as you'd reached the lovely phase of puberty, I figured you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. And then my feelings for you changed and I faced a desirable almost-man who always glared at me when I talked to him.”

“Because I thought you despised me…”

“I had to be colder to protect my heart… Didn’t want you to realise what was going on in the poor thing…”

“But if you had told me, I'm sure I would have discovered my feelings for you long before!”

They had spoken about that before of course. Mycroft had big doubts that it would have worked like this. He rather feared Sherlock would have laughed him in the face and then they would have never gotten together. But there was still the possibility that perhaps Sherlock's feelings had been there already and he would have realised them. Perhaps, perhaps…

These thoughts didn’t lead anywhere though. He kissed Sherlock on the cheek. “Yes. The whole dilemma. We can't make it undone, little brother. But maybe it was for the better, even if you had reciprocated my feelings. No matter how much I wanted you – I'm not convinced I could have dealt with an affair with my fifteen-year-old brother. It could have ended disastrously. It's better that it only happened now that we are both adults who know their hearts and are able to hide it very well from the other people in our lives.” Of course – they still could have had what they had now nine or ten years before…

“Must you always be so reasonable?”

Mycroft smiled. “Yes. One of us has to be. So what did you have in mind? Me spanking you seriously? I'd have never thought you were into pain, let alone submission.”

“I… I was pissed off. I knew it was stupid and yes, I do deserve to be punished. But you are too weak to do it.” But Sherlock winked and Mycroft chuckled.

“Yes I am. But I think I could still dominate you a bit if you really want that.”

“Yes! Show me that I upset you and you have to make me say I'm sorry!”

“I will never hurt you, Sherlock. I just couldn’t.”

He smiled when a warm hand stroked over his cheek. “I know and I love you even more for that. But if you could find it in you to just… be the Iceman for a while?”

“ _'Iceman'_?!”

Sherlock shrugged. “It's what Mrs Hudson calls you.”

“Oh. Nice…”

“It's not, I know. But she doesn’t know you. She thinks you are a stuck-up, arrogant, cold arsehole.”

“I will have her removed.”

Sherlock giggled. “Nah. I need her to look after me when you are not around.”

“Okay, I see your point. So you want me to be an Iceman. Be mean and cold to you?”

“Only for a short while. I know you have that in you. Not towards me. But in dealing with your agents for example. What if this Sterling-man does something wrong? Fucks up a mission?”

“Oh, I see. You want to meet the British Government.”

“Yes. Not like you are to me when I come into your office. Like how all the others know you.”

Sherlock wanted to see the side he never got to see. The side of the man who was running the kingdom behind closed doors. The man of power and domination. Mycroft did understand that. Sherlock loved to be the exception for him but he was keen on seeing it all.

“You could have just asked for that, Sherlock. No need to make me be afraid you could be so hurt that… you leave me.” He had feared that, he only realised it now. The way Sherlock had responded to his text. Or how he had been when he had come home…

“I'm sorry. I just thought it would bring you in the right mood.”

“Let's make something clear, Sherlock. I will never be in the mood to take to physical violence against you. Not only because you could hit back very well. And hard…” Sherlock smiled about that. He was thin but he was strong. “I would never hurt you or force you to do anything. Well, except for eating maybe… You could add a few more pounds…”

Sherlock smiled and kissed his dimpled chin. “You're my watcher.”

“Yes, I am. As your partner and your older brother. I'll always be watching over you. Always caring for you. And I will never seriously raise a hand against you. Never.”

“Not even pretending to if I ask?”

“I don't understand why you should want that. I'm actually sure you would hate it and in the end resent me for it.”

Sherlock shook his head. “I would never blame you for it. But perhaps some fantasies should remain fantasies. Some quick, nice, rugged domination though?” He batted his eyelashes. They were very long and very battable…

Mycroft grinned. “Okay, if you insist on it. I'll give you five to ten minutes with the Iceman. Less if you decide you don't like to be in bed with this nasty man…”

“Deal! And then you'll be Mycie again.”

“ _'Mycie'_! You know I hate it when Mummy calls me that!”

“Well, I'm not _Mummy_!”

“Thank God you're not… Alright then. _Mycie_ will be at your service. Judging by the sound of this silly pet name, he will be extremely nice and cuddly, won't he?”

“Yes! Mycie is your sweet, tender persona! But first the Iceman, the cold bastard!”

Mycroft smiled and then he finally started to undress as well. “Alright then. Prepare for being taught a lesson by the incredible, intimidating Iceman!”

“I love you.”

He was certainly not really what Mrs Hudson and probably most of his staff thought he was as his heart actually melted at this confession just like it did every time when Sherlock said it. “I love you, too, little brother. And now get your pert arse on the bed, lie down on your stomach and hold your breath.”

“I will, big bad brother!” His beautiful eyes were sparkling with anticipation.

All Mycroft wanted was to pet and please him – essentially be _Mycie_ for him - but he had a job to do. Being the Iceman before he was allowed to be Mycie. Everything for his demanding, irresistible little brother.

*****

Sherlock gasped when the heavy weight of his brother lowered on his thighs, and he shuddered when his brother rested his hands next to his ears, bent down and murmured, “You're in big trouble, Agent Holmes” into his ear, his voice husky and low and totally not sounding like 'Mycie' but like the coldest Iceman to have ever graced the earth with his sexiness.

His face was pressed into the pillow and he loved it. “I didn’t want that, I swear!” he croaked. He could feel something poke into his crack, something warm and hard with a damp head. When Mycroft lowered the bottom part of his body even more, it rubbed over his hole. Sherlock rolled his eyes in sheer pleasure. It was uncomfortable and humiliating and simply gorgeous.

“Are you okay?” Mycroft asked very not icemannishly.

“That was a Mycie-question,” Sherlock protested with a smile, and his brother chuckled.

“Sorry, brother dear. I figure you are fine then. Where were we?!”

It was amazing how his voice changed within the blink of an eye. From caring and gentle to cold as ice, and it didn’t seem to be any effort for him at all. But of course Sherlock knew better. Mycroft was a dominant man in all aspects of his life but not in this one. He didn’t think he was more powerful than Sherlock, more important or in a position to tell him what to do. These dynamics were not at all unknown between them of course as Mycroft had lorded over him in his position as his older brother for all his life. But since they had become lovers, Mycroft had changed completely. Sherlock was his partner, not someone he told what to do. He would always be a caregiver for him of course but that was not nearly the same. It couldn’t be to his liking to play a part reserved for his minions towards him, but as indulgent and sweet as he was, he had put on the British Government shoes just to please him.

“You were about to reprimand me for being stupid,” Sherlock said helpfully.

“Oh, yes, indeed! What did you think, Holmes?! Did you think at all?”

“No, sir, I… I'm too stupid to think.”

Mycroft snorted and Sherlock grinned into the pillow.

“Yes you are, Holmes. Now what do I do with you?” His voice was pure acid now. Hard and merciless. It was delicious.

“Punish me.”

“Yes, you have to be punished. But how?”

He didn’t want him to ask for being spanked again. Obviously Mycroft didn’t like to do that and he didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. “Fuck me, sir. Fuck me hard.” He was rather sure that was to his liking…

Mycroft gasped above him and the hard thing between his cheeks got considerably harder and wetter than it had already been.

Sherlock shuddered with pleasure and anticipation. “God, yes. Just push into me!” He meant every word. He had never realised it before but he, Sherlock Holmes - one of the smartest men under the sun, who loved to lecture people and tell them how stupid they were and how much smarter he was – longed for being dominated and taken by the one man he respected and considered his superior in terms of intelligence. The man with all the power in their country, unofficially, unknown to the dull people out there, unrecognised but so important – the Iceman. Mycroft was his brother and partner, Mycie, the man he shared his sexuality with, was the essence of sweetness but the Iceman – Sherlock was willing to throw himself at his feet and be at his mercy.

Mycroft shifted his weight and Sherlock heard him open the bottle of lube that was strategically placed on the nightstand. He sighed when two deft fingers started preparing him. Of course Mycroft wouldn’t just take him. It would have hurt him and Mycroft was not into delivering pain. But Sherlock still wanted it to be different. Rough. Hard.

“Get on with it, sir,” he grumbled.

“Silence, Agent Holmes. You are not in the position to give orders.”

“I need it, Mycroft,” Sherlock pleaded, leaving his role. “I want to have it hard.”

“Listen to me – I will oblige but if it's too much, I need you to immediately tell me – are we clear?”

“Yes. Of course. Won't happen though.”

“You say that now. You know how hung I am. So we need a safeword. Any suggestions?”

“Mycie. I will say Mycie.”

“Alright. Say it and I'll turn into him at once.”

“Okay. Now move. Show me what you have.”

His brother took a deep breath above him and then he lowered his body on Sherlock's once more and the wide crown of his dick pushed against his slick hole. “Let's go, little brother,” he mumbled and then he breached him.

*****

Mycroft stopped thinking coherently after only a minute of topping his brother. His brain just short circuited and a primal instinct took over. That was probably normal for other people when they had sex in general but not for him. His brain was never shut down except perhaps in the seconds of climaxing. But this time it was different.

The moment he slid into his brother and then started hammering after a few careful strokes his vision turned purple. With closed eyes he just gave into the sensation of his dick being sucked into hot, sticky tightness and most of all of dominating his brother like never before.

Sherlock groaned and screamed in the rhythm of his thrusts but he met him halfway by pushing back his arse, clashing against his hips, and he clearly didn’t scream out of pain, at least not mainly. And he kept encouraging Mycroft to fuck him harder.

And Mycroft gave his best. Sweat flying from his forehead, he more and more frantically pumped into him, making the mattress protest against the assault of two male bodies more or less jumping up and down on it. But there was no stopping. This was the most arousing moment in his life, God help him.

Mycroft may not be able to think straight anymore as all blood rushed into his groin but his ears were open. He was listening to every breath his brother took and every noise he made, making sure he wouldn’t miss if he heard this embarrassing pet name being stammered.

But all he heard were Sherlock's excited groans and begs for being fucked even rougher, 'more, more' encouragements and the hammering of his own heart and their combined harsh panting.

And then Sherlock screamed in a voice he had never heard of him and the ring of muscles around his pounding dick contracted violently when Sherlock reached his climax, rubbing his dick against the sheets.

With one last especially deep thrust Mycroft emptied himself into him, filling him up like never before and then collapsed right on his back.

Sherlock groaned beneath him and with the rest of his strength he pulled out of him and dragged him with him so he came lying on his chest, and he sneaked his right hand between his cheeks and welcomed the stickiness that was flowing out of him.

Both were still panting hard and his heart was beating in a murderous pace, but he had never felt more alive or younger than in this moment.

“God, Mycie…” Sherlock mumbled and he embraced him even tighter with his left arm.

“I know.”

“That was…”

“…an explosion.”

“You loved that every bit…”

“…as much as you did, yes.”

Mycroft had to admit it. But he was torn. Taking his baby brother as brutally as he had shouldn’t have felt as good as it had. He loved this tenderness now. But damn – it had been so bloody hot.

“We must do that again,” Sherlock insisted.

“Are you okay?” Mycroft asked him, a little late.

“Of course I am. I love the Iceman…”

“Yes? What about Mycie?”

“I love him every bit as much”

“Good. Your bum will hurt for a while I guess.”

“Worth it. Definitely worth it.”

Mycroft rubbed the mixture of lube and sperm that he had caught into Sherlock's plush arse. It made his brother chuckle against his neck. “We can't do this all the time,” the older man stated.

“No. John might wonder why I have problems with sitting down so often…”

“And I… couldn’t pull that off every time.”

“I know. And Mycie would be grumpy.”

“Can't let that happen. Poor boy. He wants to kiss you.”

“Who am I to deny him that?” Sherlock lifted his head while scrambling up on the bed and their lips met for a deep, tender kiss that lasted for more than ten minutes.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said when they reluctantly broke apart. “That was awesome.”

“Yes it was. Shower now and then dinner?”

“Of course. What the Iceman wants, the Iceman gets.”

Mycroft smiled and shook his head. “He's gone, Sherlock. You have to keep up with Mycie now.”

“Fine with me. He's cute. He's just merged with Mycroft I think.”

“That's confusing.”

“No, it actually isn't. He's the man I live with. Sort of… The one who has dinner with me, the one who takes care of me. The one who makes love to me.”

“And the Iceman is the one to fuck you in two halves.”

Sherlock laughed. “Just so. Come on, Mycie. You have to be fed.”

Mycroft could live with it – being Mycie for his little brother from now on. He would turn back into Mycroft, the admonishing older brother, if anyone else was around though. And into the Iceman if they both felt like it. He could live with all that. Very well…


	7. Escort Service

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an incredibly sappy chapter.  
> 

It felt strange. Very strange. Mycroft had never done that before – using the doorbell to be let into his own house. Not because he had lost or forgotten his keys. He had gotten _an order_ …

 _You owe me. SH_ the message had said.

_I know. What do you wish as a reward? MH_

Sherlock and his loyal sidekick had solved a rather challenging and legwork-requiring case for the kingdom.

_We'll play. SH_

Mycroft had smiled.

_I'm all ears. MH_

_I won't tell you. Shall be a little challenge for you for a change. Just come home and don't use your keys but the doorbell. SH_

_Will you let me in? MH_

_No. SH_

_Very funny. MH_

_That was a goldfish-question, brother dear. Of course I'll let you in. And then we'll play. SH_

_But you're not going to tell me what? MH_

_No. But it will be nice. I hope. A tad different. SH_

_Isn't it always? MH_

_I do hope so. Love you. SH_

_I love you, too. And I'll be at your mercy then. MH_

_Which is your place to be. SH_

Which was completely true after all. So Mycroft used the doorbell now and waited. Thank God there were no direct neighbours and the house was surrounded by lots of bushes and high trees anyway. Nobody would watch him waiting to be let into his own house.

Then the door opened up and he swallowed. A man in his best black, silky robe was standing in front of him, smoking a cigar, his hair a mess of black curls. “Finally,” he said in a very deep, very sexy voice. “I'm used to better services by your agency.”

 _Agency?_ “Sorry, sir, the traffic,” Mycroft said, feeling a tad insecure (but also pretty excited).

These sinfully plush lips blew out the heady smoke. “Do come in now. I'm not paying to admire you standing in my doorframe.”

 _Oh…_ Mycroft smiled and stepped in. “Of course not, sir. You'll get exactly what you pay for.”

Sherlock grinned. “I should hope so, boy. I'm horny and you're just the man I need.”

If that wasn’t music to his ears… Mycroft put his umbrella where it belonged and slipped out of his coat to hang it up neatly. “I'm all yours to use me,” he promised, and the hunger in Sherlock's eyes made him shiver with anticipation. It seemed he had a job to do after his exhausting day job and it was very much to his liking.

*****

Sherlock led the way to the living room, wiggling his hips seductively as he hoped. He was completely naked under Mycroft's soft, light robe and he could feel it getting caught in his crack, certainly stressing his arse, definitely one of his best assets as Mycroft kept assuring him, beautifully. The look on his brother's face when he turned around to him at their destination showed him that he had pulled it off well enough. Dilated pupils, lips wet from licking them – yes, Mycroft clearly approved.

After putting the cigar in the ashtray on the table he threw himself into Mycroft's arm chair and scrutinized his rather exhausted but hopeful looking older brother. "Well, your agency said you're up to everything."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "Almost."

Sherlock admired his ability to act up on the game at once. "So? What is off limits then?"

"Kissing," was the laconic reply.

The man in charge grimaced. "What? No kissing?!" How should he have sex with Mycroft without kissing him! It was his favourite foreplay! And middleplay! And Mycroft's as well!

An apologetic smile was the answer. "Well, we don't do that. You know, it's too intimate."

Damn! Sherlock had heard about that. Rent boys (and girls) didn't kiss their customers. Who would have thought that _Mycroft_ knew it, too. This was inevitably leading to a very unpleasant thought.

Mycroft deduced it of course. "Targets of the MI5, Sherlock. Making them talk. Prostitutes, sorry, escort people are very good at that. Recordings are done. Sometimes I have to listen to them." He grimaced.

Ah, of course. "No legwork for you? With the third leg?" He just had to be sure.

Mycroft grinned. "God, no. Who would have paid for having sex with me anyway?"

"I would!"

"And I feel very flattered. But no, dear. I don't know it from personal experience, in none of the roles."

"Good." He fought back the ever-present jealousy. He simply didn’t want to imagine his beloved brother in any sexual activity or any kind of physical contact with anybody who wasn’t him. No matter how cold and rational he usually was in challenging situations – he knew he couldn’t guarantee for anything should he ever witness anyone laying hand on his man.

Mycroft deduced him correctly once more and smiled sweetly and reassuringly. Then he returned to his role. “So what can I do for you?” he asked in a submissive and very seductive tone.

Sherlock didn’t want anything more than to kiss him but he had closed this door for now. So he just untied his robe. Well, Mycroft's robe.

Delicate eyebrows were lifted. "Ah. I hope there are no burn holes in the robe."

Sherlock had been very careful with the cigar. "That's not your problem," he said though.

"Of course not. So... Oh..." His blue eyes got wide.

He had only noticed now obviously that Sherlock had shaved his body. Completely. Even the fine hairs around his hole. It had been rather difficult but he had managed to be as smooth as a baby. Even his pubic hair was gone completely. He felt more naked than ever before, and Mycroft's hungry look made his cock lift up without being touched.

"Would you like me to worship you with my tongue, sir?"

Sherlock shuddered. "Oh, yes." He lifted his legs and put his feet on the armrests of the chair, giving his brother perfect access to both his arse and his genitals in a very obscene attitude. “Get naked first, too!” he demanded.

Mycroft hurried to comply and Sherlock noticed that he felt a little self-conscious as he hadn't had a chance to take a shower. Sherlock, who had scrubbed himself with Mycroft's delicate peach-flavoured body wash until he had been squeaky clean and then had used the posh deodorant of his brother, couldn’t have cared less. He loved Mycroft's unique scent and taste and could have sniffed at him for hours. Which wasn’t going to happen so soon though. But he could watch him…

When Mycroft didn’t have a single piece of clothing left on his lean, hairy body, he tilted his head. “What exactly do you want me to do, sir? I was told by the agency you paid for the full program but you'll have to tell me so I can please you in the best possible way.”

He sounded so suave and submissive and still graceful. He was such a good actor… Even his accent was a lot less posh than usual.

“How did you end up in this job?” Sherlock couldn’t suppress asking as if his powerful big brother really was a man who had to sell his beautiful body to earn his money.

Mycroft smiled. “That's a long story.”

“Let me guess – you had a very important job and pissed some even more important people off?”

The smile got deeper. “That sums it up quite well. My boss was such a pain in the arse. I couldn’t keep myself from yelling at him.”

“I figure. Do you have… family? And what is your name at all? Your real name? The agency called you Mark but I'm sure that's just a stage name.” Sherlock was so loving this roleplay. He was still sitting in this rather absurd position and Mycroft's gaze wandered to his exposed hole more than once but as usual, he indulged him.

“I just have a very bratty younger brother. And old parents. And my name is off limits.”

“Please… A nickname maybe?”

“Ah. Richie.”

“Richie?!”

Mycroft grinned. “Anything wrong with it?”

“No, nothing. Richie is it then. So – does your family know what you are doing now?”

“Of course not. They would be devastated.”

“Sure? Wouldn’t they support you in anything you do?”

“My brother, possibly. Under all his brattishness he is a gem.”

Sherlock smiled. “I'm sure he is. You like him?”

“I love him to pieces. He looks very similar to you by the way. But he’s not quite that shameless…”

Sherlock giggled. “Does he like to have his arse licked?”

“How would I know? Do you?”

His tone had dropped again with the last words and it made Sherlock's entire body tingle. It was time to get going.

“Yes, Richie. Lick my hole.”

*****

Mycroft would never get over how his brother tasted. There were no sufficient attributes to describe it but it could probably be summed up as 'delicious'. He licked and lapped away at the smooth, wrinkled flesh, now completely hairless, teasing the quivering opening with the tip of his tongue first and then, by listening to Sherlock's increasingly loud moans, dipped it in and invaded his most private part deeper and deeper, being very creative with the movements of his long, capable tongue.

Sherlock wiggled and twitched in the chair and hissed an apology when he kicked Mycroft in the ribs by accident. The older man just patted his leg and went on devouring him. His own legs would probably hurt a bit later from his rather unpleasant position on the floor but that didn’t bother him any more than the kick. He did what he loved doing most – pleasing his brother in a way nobody had done before.

Just briefly he imagined how this would look to anyone who witnessed them – it must appear to be the epitome of depravation. The naughtiness of the act itself, spiced up with the fact that it was one brother doing it to the other one.

And damn him if this thought didn’t turn him on even more… His cock was untouched as Sherlock's and still every bit as hard as his little brother's was. Sherlock's body was a miracle in its beauty and sensitivity. And at least the second attribute was matched by Mycroft's. He was aroused unbelievably strongly and he ignored it, simply going on giving pleasure to the man he loved, but he knew it would be an explosion when he was granted his release.

He stroked over the sensitive skin over Sherlock's prick where the pubic hair had gone, feeling his brother shudder under the touch. “So smooth for me,” he mumbled and then brought his tongue in place again.

“God, fuck me now, My… Richie!” Sherlock hissed with sweat-soaked hair fifteen minutes into their naughty play.

“Alright. Give me a condom then, please.”

“A what?!”

“A condom, sir! You don't seriously expect me to penetrate you without protection!”

Sherlock howled. “But I don't have any! You should have brought them!” he accused entirely unfairly.

Mycroft chuckled. “You're not very well prepared, brother dear,” he said, soothing his hip. “Perhaps you should have let me know beforehand what you had planned…”

“Please… forget the bloody game and fuck me!”

“Pardon?”

“I hate you!”

Mycroft assumed he even almost meant it this time in his desperate neediness. He stood up, his legs shaking as expected. “Do you now, sweetheart?”

“No. Of course not.” Sherlock slumped down in the chair, looking defeated all at once.

That couldn’t happen of course. Mycroft's heart melted at the sight. “Alright, brother mine. Let's go upstairs and be Sherlock and Mycroft instead.”

The bright blue-green eyes lightened up considerably. Sherlock jumped from the chair. “Great! But I want Mycie!”

“Yes, of course. He will gladly come out to play. But as you were so nasty to me, you will have to do all the work.”

Sherlock nodded frantically. “Sorry for being nasty. Love you, not hate you. Still do whatever you want.”

“I will lie down and you will saddle up.”

“Yes, yes! Bouncing up and down on you!”

His enthusiasm let Mycroft smile. “Just like that. Ride that horse.”

“Oh yes. Nice, big horse, hung like a… horse…”

Mycroft laughed. “Come then, sexy cowboy.”

“Damn! I wish we had chaps I could wear while I'm fucking myself on you!”

“Hm! They look nice.”

“We must get some!”

“We will. But now we'll have to do it without them.”

“No chore, brother!” Sherlock finally wrapped his arms around his neck. “May I kiss you now?”

“Oh, love. Richie doesn't kiss. Mycie does.”

“Good!”

It took them ten minutes to get upstairs as Sherlock just couldn’t stop plundering his mouth. Mycroft didn’t mind at all. He melted at tasting the cigar and tea and pure, delicious Sherlock.

*****

Both of them groaned when Sherlock took the entire length of his brother's dick in at once after straddling his lap. Mycroft was lying flat on his huge bed and had watched Sherlock lubing his hole up for him and then coating his fully hard cock rather impatiently.

"That feels so good," escaped the mouth of both Holmes brothers simultaneously, and they grinned at each other.

Sherlock almost fainted when Mycroft reached behind him to press his long fingers on the spot at which they were so wonderfully connected – the stretched-out skin of his anus. It made him feel even fuller and the pressure was almost too much to bear. Only almost of course...

Mycroft looked so awesome in his hairy, naked glory, laid out for him to use him as he wished.

"I love that... Richie," he said and Mycroft chuckled.

"You're cheating!"

"Ah, just pretend the condom is in place. So... have you ever imagined your baby brother doing that to you?" He started moving his hips up and down, making them both hiss in pleasure when he slid along the big intruder.

"No! Of course not! That would be... wrong..."

"No! It wouldn't! I bet he would love it – being fucked by you, his beautiful big brother. Filling him up so well, not only with your cock but with _yourself_. Showing him what sex should be about." He was moving faster now, riding his personal horse rightfully.

"Yes, you think so?" Mycroft panted, his blue eyes almost all-pupils now, his hands sliding up and down on Sherlock's hips.

His dick was bobbing about at every bounce and he could see wetness appearing at the tip. Mycroft had seen it, too, and he wiped over the sticky slit, licking Sherlock's essence off his finger with a pleased little moan. This sight could have driven the most sensible man wild.

"Yes. That's how it has to be – the purest love of all." Sherlock was totally convinced that it was exactly that, no matter that everybody else would think it to be wrong and scandalous. He knew with great certainty that it wasn't and that nobody except for his big brother would have ever been able to make him feel like this – precious, special, completely accepted with all his flaws and treats. He felt loved and desired against all odds and despite all the risks their relationship was burdened with. Mycroft risked so much for him and it was the purest proof of how much he meant to him. Mycroft knew him so much better than anyone else - including John - ever would; he understood his brain like nobody else because it was working just like his own, and he knew how awkward Sherlock felt among people as he had been an outsider all his life as well. Only with Mycroft he could really be himself and that was the greatest gift he could have wished for. Mycroft was every bit a moral compass as John was but he went to great lengths to indulge him and give him the freedom of being like he was, no need to pretend or to impress. Of course this worked both ways. Sherlock knew nobody ever got to see Mycroft's real self except for him, and it made him so grateful and proud. And ironically enough, their roleplays made them open up even more to one another as it brought all the hidden facets of their personalities to light.

He looked at his brother, his eyes expressing all the gratitude he felt and all the desire Mycroft woke in him, his shields completely down like he had never done it with anyone else before. Only Mycroft may see him robbed of all his masks, and the love he saw in his eyes now threatened to let his heart explode. He laid the palm of his right hand on Mycroft's chest, directly over his throbbing motor, and he knew this big heart was beating only for him.

Mycroft finally grabbed his dick properly now after teasing the shaved skin above it again, and with a few pumps he made Sherlock come with a scream all over him, painting his chest with white stripes, and only a few moments later Sherlock could feel him explode deep inside him, and then his mouth was looking for Mycroft's, and the older man lifted his upper body to meet him halfway, their lips crashing against each other, their tongues starting the dance of love and reassurance while Mycroft was still in him and holding him tight around the waist.

"I love you, Mycie," he said quietly when they broke apart due to the need of air.

"What about Richie?"

"He's not here anymore."

Mycroft smiled and stroked his forehead, freeing it from some stray, sweaty curls. "Right so. I guess he's gone to get things right with his brother."

"You mean fuck him?"

"Among other things, yes."

"Good for him. There's no greater sort of love in this world."

"Agreed, at least when it's regarding us. And of course Richie and his nameless brother. Care to share a shower now?"

"Yes. Say it back?"

The smile Mycroft gave him could have melted ice. "I always will. I love you, Sherlock. You make me so happy."

There was no other answer to this than yet another deep kiss.


	8. The Crabby Cleaner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft works and has to deal with a rather aggressive cleaner.

Mycroft was playing with his pencil. Looking over his desk full of folders. Feeling tense. A little bit. The good sort of it. The sexy sort to be precise.

He wasn’t in the Diogenes. Nor was he in the office in Whitehall. He was sitting at his desk in his home office, a room he hardly spent time in anymore since his life had taken such an unexpected but even the more lovely turn. He used to get through with his duties faster than ever before when he was at work so he had no reason to sit in this plain, not very inviting room when he had set a foot into his house.

Except for this evening.

Once more Sherlock and John had been of assistance, and Mycroft had been willing to indulge his little brother as always, excited about what he might have in mind. But Sherlock had just texted him that he should have a quick dinner alone and then, still in his suit from the day, retreat into his home office to do some work and text him when he had started doing it.

Mycroft had been rather irritated but had – of course – done as he'd been told. He had taken a shower though, dressed in a fresh suit and shaved his stubble. His brother wasn’t that fond of having his beautiful face all scratched up, and Mycroft didn’t want to feel sweaty and smell disgustingly when he was about to get tactile with his man. He had put a good load of folders all over his desk, just for appearance. He had even tried to seriously read a report he had received right before leaving the office but he couldn’t quite concentrate.

He mused about what Sherlock might plan – playing Iceman and Agent perhaps? Or… Iceman and Anthea? Would he serve him tea and then serve him otherwise? Not that Anthea had ever done or would ever do it of course but boss and PA was a common roleplay. Or… would he be the PM and yell at him? Mycroft grinned at this image.

Finally he heard steps outside and his heart started to beat faster. They sounded strange though. As if someone was carrying something made of metal and… Then he cringed when a loud noise met his ears, followed by a hissed _'oh fuck it'_ that definitely came from Sherlock. Well, who else?

He winced again when Sherlock knocked at the door. With his fist as it seemed. Hard. This was a tad disconcerting.

“Yes?” he carefully said.

The door was opened up with a bang and Mycroft's jaw dropped when his little brother appeared in the door frame.

“Are you finally finished?” Sherlock spat out before he could say anything.

“Um. Not quite,” Mycroft said, hoping it was the right answer.

Sherlock snorted. Yes, it had been the right one… “You big people don't think of us, right? Making our jobs even harder? I know you think it's nothing what we do but you're wrong!”

“Um. No, I don't think that!”

Sherlock snorted again and let the metal cleaning bucket drop onto the floor, which led to a very unpleasant noise and some water gushing on the ground, and pointed the scrubber he was holding in his other hand at him. “Course you do! Mr Important. Never thinks of the mess he leaves behind.”

Mycroft stared at him while he was bending over to manoeuvre the cleaning rag he had fished out of the strongly smelling water over the end of the scrubber. He was wearing only thin blue dungarees, exposing his muscular arms. There were clearly no pants beneath the rough fabric and his arse was stressed greatly by the tight trousers; Mycroft admired this tremendously pleasant sight when he started cleaning the floor of his office. Sherlock wiggled his hips and looked over his shoulder, winking, and Mycroft grinned and then discreetly adjusted his own trousers. He would never get not excited by looking at his baby brother's bum.

Sherlock returned to his role and narrowed his eyes. “Pervert!” he accused. “Getting off on watching hard working people do their job so you can sit on your lazy arse?”

Mycroft blushed and shook his head over himself, grinning.

Sherlock gasped. “You dare mock me?!”

“No! Listen, whatever your name is…”

“It's on my name badge!” He pointed at the piece of paper on his chest that Mycroft had missed so far.

Mycroft stared at it to decipher the name. “Benedict?”

The cleaner exploded once more. “What's wrong with it?! Too posh for a working-class-man like me?”

“No! It's a nice name… Do your friends call you 'Benny' then?”

“ _'Benny'_!” Sherlock flared. “They should dare!”

He was really on fire… Mycroft wondered if anyone had pissed him seriously off during the day and this was his very unique way of compensating it… “Apologies. And your last name is?”

“Why?! Do you want to complain about me?!”

“No! Why would I,” Mycroft had to defend himself once more. “But I want to be able to address you correctly.”

“Hm,” Sherlock made in a tone full of suspicion. “'Ben' would be okay. But if you need to know – my last name is… Cuddlecatch.”

This time Mycroft lost his composure but he forced the laughter away at once when Sherlock glared at him.

“What is wrong with that now?!”

“Nothing, really. It's… nice. Very creative,” Mycroft added quietly. His brother was such a wonder.

He stayed in character though. “ _Creative_! What is that supposed to mean! I didn’t choose it myself after all!”

Of course not… “Apologies, Mr Cuddlecatch.”

This time Sherlock's lips twitched and Mycroft would have died for kissing him. But he would hopefully be allowed to do that later.

“Ben is fine as I said,” Sherlock mumbled. “Don't complain about me. My boss is an arsehole.”

“Oh, is he?” Mycroft asked in a tone of compassion.

“Yeah! Low pay and treating us badly… Working my arse off and get nothing but a few pounds…” Sherlock continued to scrub the floor around the desk and he did it surprisingly skilfully. Mycroft wondered if he had rehearsed it…

“That's not nice,” Mycroft confirmed.

“Yeah. Can hardly buy food from my wages. Could never afford going to a nice restaurant or something. Just to the cheap pub around the corner to have a beer. Never meet guys like you there…”

Mycroft leaned back in his chair, not sure how to respond to this. It had been a long day again and these roleplays were a challenge… Especially this one as he'd never dealt with such a volatile character before.

“Not that I ever had a chance with a man like you anyway,” Sherlock mumbled, leading the way. “Normal, decent guys like me who make their hands dirty – they don't get into the pants of fine gentlemen like you.” He went on scrubbing with vigour.

 _Oh…_ “I would definitely not say that,” he protested.

“Yeah, right! Look at you with your manicured fingernails and your pricy suit. I bet your haircut costs more than I make in a year!” He leaned the scrubber against the wall.

“That's not important. You are… very attractive…”

Sherlock snorted again. “Yeah, an easy lay, right? Think you can just turn on the blarney and shower me with compliments and then do this…” he cleared the desk from all the folders with one arm, making them fly all over the freshly cleaned floor, “and then fuck me on your desk?”

Mycroft wouldn’t have liked to do anything more than this and he knew his eyes had lightened up.

“Not with me!” Sherlock exclaimed, glaring at him.

“Um, you want to be taken for dinner before?” Mycroft suggested.

“Ha! Nice try! No – _I_ want to fuck _you_! I want to see you with your posh trousers and your pants around your ankles, leaning on your desk, and then I want to push my big cock into your pert arse…”

Okay, this sounded even better… But he couldn’t make it this easy for him, could he? “You are really blunt, Mr Cuddlecatch! We don't know each other at all!”

“I know everything about you. You're Mycroft Holmes, the big man behind the king!”

Mycroft grinned. “We have a queen actually.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Who gives a bloody… Anyway. You are rich and important and make people dance. Pulling all the strings, running the country with a snap of your fingers. And you take what you want.”

“Yes.” Mycroft leaned back in his chair. “It's nice if you can have them all. All the princes and aristocrats. But sometimes… I really need a working-class man. A rough guy who's in charge. Taking what _he_ wants from _me_. You know it's hard to always be in control and tell people what to do. It's nice to be dominated for a change.”

Sherlock's eyes were sparkling. “I could do that.”

“I know you could. Such a strong, sexy man like you…”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes again. “You're not mocking me, are you?”

“No! Of course not!” Mycroft stood up and grabbed for his trouser button.

But Sherlock shook his head. “First you need to suck me.” He slipped off the top of the overall and let it drop unceremoniously before stepping out of it. Then he walked around the desk completely naked except for his working shoes and sat down on it.

Mycroft licked his lips. “With pleasure, Benedict.”

*****

Sherlock watched his big brother wrapping his long, beautiful fingers around his dick, stroking it to full hardness within mere seconds. He was so turned on… For ages he had fantasised about having sex with him in his office. Well, not exactly this one… In his imagination he had gone to Mycroft's stylish Whitehall office or the old-fashioned one in the Diogenes and had bent him over his desk to fuck him or being fucked by him, while Anthea was sitting in the office next to Mycroft's, working on his orders, oblivious to what was going on between her boss and his little brother.

But of course he couldn’t have suggested that. He didn’t like to be rejected when he claimed his rewards, and he knew Mycroft would have never agreed to this. It was simply too dangerous. Neither of them were exactly able to keep quiet during their orgasms and he knew the PM had the annoying habit to knock once and then stumble into any room he wished to. And if they locked the door, it would look suspicious to say the least. And he didn’t even want to imagine their moans echoing through the silent Diogenes… In short, even though it made him wild to think about it – Mycroft's offices were no option.

There was one place outside of Mycroft's house he absolutely wanted to get tactile with his brother in though, a place probably even more inappropriate, and he was determined to have his way soon. He would not let Mycroft get out of that. So he would stick to the second best solution for this fantasy and play his cards for the more important one.

And this was absolutely nice enough – watching Big Brother licking at his dick as if he was enjoying a lolly pop. Feeling his sensitive skin enveloped by the heat of his mouth eventually, and all that in a room that was meant for work, just as his other offices, only without any danger of anyone walking in on them or hearing them.

The roleplay was really to his liking, being the rough, grumpy, demanding guy, still somehow submissive to Mycroft's power but willing to turn the tables for once and be the dominant one. He had not been surprised that Mycroft had showered, shaved and changed clothes before, in fact he had known he wouldn’t be amenable to play in a more natural state if he could avoid it. Not that Sherlock minded. He was happy that his brother was open to this kind of play at all. And he smelled great, no matter if showered or not. One day he would get him sweaty and sticky. They had a life full of passion ahead after all.

“Suck me, government boy,” he said hoarsely, laying his right palm on the back of Mycroft's head. “I want to be all in your throat.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes as an answer and took him in even deeper. Sherlock cursed when his prick hit the back of his brother's throat, making him gag around it. The noise was awful and delicious and Sherlock got even harder. But he didn’t want to come now.

“Stop now, Mr Important,” he hissed, helping Mycroft to disentangle from him. He slid from the desk and urged Mycroft to get up and rest his hands on it, then he took place in Mycroft's leather chair. “Stick your arse out now! I'm hungry.”

Mycroft chuckled and Sherlock grinned and pressed a kiss on his brother's slightly hairy arse before he spread his firm cheeks and went to town.

*****

Mycroft had never seen himself as a submissive man. Whenever they'd had a roleplay with one dominating the other, it had always been him being in charge. This was very different and he loved every second of it. He mused if what he had said to Sherlock had been simply the truth – that it was nice to give up control for a change.

Sherlock had licked him for more than fifteen minutes and Mycroft had almost collapsed on the desk. It was the epitome of naughtiness, one brother doing it for the other one and it was also the epitome of pleasure. The feeling of wetness in his hole, the slurping noises, Sherlock's hot breath against his most sensitive spot… It was wonderful…

Mycroft's dick was straining against the desk, leaving a wet trace on the polished top. He watched it being smeared while Sherlock was pumping into him now, holding onto his shoulders. It had not taken them long to find the perfect rhythm. Mycroft didn’t bottom as often as Sherlock but he loved it every bit as being the one delivering the fucking.

“Such a lazy boy, making me do all the work,” Sherlock hissed behind him and he giggled.

He did remember a time when Sherlock had called him lazy and meant it. It was so nice to be teased with it now, knowing it was meant in a completely different way now.

“You're the worker after all,” he smirked, yelping when this brought him a rather hard but definitely deserved slap on the arse. He had not been able to smack Sherlock when they had tried this out but his brother had no such calms as it seemed. And damn… he did like it…

“You cheeky bastard!” Sherlock rutted into him even harder than before.

Mycroft knew he would have some problems with sitting the next day but damn it. It would only remind him of this lovely, rough play. “Sorry!”

“Hmpf! You think you're better than me!”

“No! I don't think that! You're awesome and sexy and… “ He groaned when Sherlock hit his prostate in the most pleasurable way. “Oh God, yes, fuck me like this, Sherlock!”

“'Sherlock´? Who's this? And who has such a silly name?”

“Um…”

Sherlock stopped his movements, his fingers digging into his shoulders. “God… _Your_ first name is Mycroft, right? The same strange sort of name! So who's he? Your brother?!”

Mycroft grinned. Somehow they very often ended at this certain point. “Yes,” he confessed, looking down on the desk in deep, fake shame.

“Holy shit! You think of your brother when I fuck you?” Sherlock continued to do exactly this, with deep, slow thrusts this time.

“Yes! He looks like you, okay!”

“So he's handsome!”

Mycroft giggled. “Yes, very. Seven years younger, so lean and beautiful and he's so innocent.”

“So he never did that to you?” Sherlock pumped harder again, making his whole body tingle and forcing deep moans of out of him.

“No,” Mycroft said truthfully. Sherlock had really not taken him like this before. He could definitely get used to it.

“What a shame! You're so tight and you feel so good,” Sherlock croaked and Mycroft could hear that he was close now.

“Yes, give it to me, Benny,” he groaned.

Sherlock howled and giggled at the same time and then he managed to slap his arse again while still shagging it thoroughly. “No-one calls me Benny!”

Mycroft reached down to finally get hold of his dick that was rubbing over the desk in a puddle of pre-come and he only needed a few pumps before he shot his load all over the precious wood.

“Fuck,” Sherlock hissed behind him and then Mycroft could feel him pumping his arse full of his hot sperm.

Sherlock didn’t retreat but pulled him backwards while sitting down so Mycroft ended up on his lap with his still hard cock still inside him. He managed to turn right to embrace his brother. They kissed for the best part of five minutes while Sherlock was softening inside of him and slipping out, letting wetness dribble onto Sherlock's thighs.

“This was awesome.” Mycroft stroked over his brother's tousled curls.

“Yes! I'm glad you liked it, too. I like to be a bit… rougher. You know you could have always told me to slow down? And I probably shouldn’t have hit you. It didn’t get off on it…”

“Liar.”

“No! Perhaps a tiny little bit.” Sherlock kissed his neck.

“That's alright. I have to say I liked it. And the floor is cleaner than ever before. You can take care of the rest of the house tomorrow then.”

“Nah. Don't think so. Don't want to make your housekeeper unemployed.”

“That's very considerate of you. Shower?”

“Yep. More sex then?”

“Of course.”

They left the room hand in hand, the folders still spread all over the freshly scrubbed floor.

“I wish we could have done it in my real office,” Mycroft said softly.

Sherlock turned to him. “You knew that?”

“Sure I did.”

Sherlock nodded. “Yeah. That would have been great. But I loved it. Safe and still very sexy.”

This cried for a tight embrace and a deep kiss. “My reasonable, sweet little brother,” Mycroft purred into his ear then.

“That’s me.”

Mycroft smiled. “Come on, my hard-working man. Let's get clean and then I'll see if I can catch a few cuddles.”

The smile on Sherlock's face was everything. Just everything.


	9. Father Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has a faithful heart but his flesh is hard, um weak :)

Mycroft cleared his throat. “Well, my lad, come in.”

“Hm.” After a dramatic pause and a glare, Sherlock, wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, entered the house and Mycroft hurried to close the door behind him. He really didn’t want to be seen by anyone in these clothes… Not that his house could be seen by any of his neighbours but still… He felt rather… exposed… and… like the biggest imposter of all times.

“Nice skirt,” Sherlock mumbled and Mycroft had to suppress a giggle.

“I will not have this sarcastic tone in the parish house, young man. Follow me into the study.” He turned, making the soutane, the only piece of clothing he was wearing except for socks and shoes, swirl around his tall, slim body, providing a good view at his long legs for Sherlock's delight. Sherlock giggled behind him and he led the way with a grin.

And then they were in his office once more, the only fitting room for their roleplay. Sherlock had texted him after leaving the Diogenes with John. His instructions had been pretty clear but left a lot of room for improvisation, just the way they liked it.

_7pm. Wear the soutane. Nothing else. A 16-yo sinner will visit you. SH_

Mycroft sat down in his office chair. It felt tremendously strange to only wear the heavy cassock, scratching over his tender skin. He had bought it a few weeks after their little adventure in the church and he had been surprised how well it suited them both. It changed their appearances tremendously. Sherlock with his sharp cheekbones and the black hair and piercing eyes looked in it like a true, ascetic, staunchly priest – even though of course that couldn’t have been any further from the truth. And Mycroft himself was baffled about the change of his own appearance in this simple piece of clothing. So far they hadn't included it in a play but they had finally gotten to it.

In Sherlock's eyes he could see now his approval for his looks before he put on his mask of the pissed-off-teenager again.

“So, young man,” he started, carefully. “You know why you are here?” He suspected which path Sherlock wanted to go with this roleplay but he had to be sure.

“No,” Sherlock said, winking slightly. He had dropped onto the chair on the other side of the desk in a rebellious, don't-fuck-with-me-pose with spread legs and his elbows on the armrests.

Damn… “Your mother called me,” Mycroft improvised.

Sherlock just snorted.

He really didn’t make it easy for him… But Mycroft kind of liked that. It was part of the game after all. “She is worried,” he continued, a little lamely.

“She can kiss my…”

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock giggled but forced the scowl back onto his face at once. “It's true,” he mumbled. “Only because she doesn’t understand it…”

 _Oh yeah…_ “But it's a sin,” he said, admonishingly, seeing his suspicion more or less confirmed.

“I don't give a fuck if it's a sin!” Sherlock flared. “I love fucking with men!”

“That's enough now! I won't tolerate this language, and your mother and I won't tolerate your shameless, inappropriate, sinful behaviour!”

“You are the one to tell! I bet you had lots of little altar boys serving your…”

Mycroft shot up from his chair. “What a blasphemy!” he yelled, figuring that wasn't quite the correct expression but it sounded good.

“Ha! I can see through you! You want me to drop down and suck your dick!” Sherlock winked seductively. “Get my head under your silly skirt and swallow you to the root.”

Mycroft couldn’t help it. He got hard and it was impossible to hide under the lose cassock. “You're the devil,” he hissed, not even in character anymore but subconsciously fitting it.

Sherlock grinned and managed to wink innocently. “A devil who is very good with his mouth.” He stood up and pushed Mycroft back into the chair to drop on his knees before him, and within an instant, his head had disappeared under the soutane.

“No,” he protested weakly, hissing when Sherlock's wet lips closed around the sensitive head of his cock, licking the underside teasingly.

“Oh, you taste so good down there, Father,” Sherlock purred, his hot breath making his dick twitch again. Then he theatrically and audibly sniffed at him. “So musky and manly.” His lips closed around Mycroft's balls and he gently sucked at them.

Oh, this was really a strange play. Mycroft had never had any interest in religion (besides how to use it against a target) and he was basically a roleplaying, incest-performing government official being dressed up like a priest (if priests would have used to wear cassocks without any other clothing under them…) and Sherlock wasn't sixteen – around the age when Mycroft had fallen for him – but twenty-nine but somehow this felt especially naughty. Perhaps part of it was that he couldn’t even see his brother's face… He was reduced to feeling him while Sherlock had perfect access to his intimate area where he teased and lapped and sniffed to Mycroft's absolute delight.

“I'm praying for your soul,” he mumbled, making Sherlock giggle against his cock before he heartily swallowed it down.

Mycroft would have died to ogle his brother's naked arse while he was busy with his cock but it wouldn’t have exactly been in character to ask him to undress. So Sherlock served him, fully dressed, and he could all but feel and stare at the plush bum slightly wiggling in the tight jeans. But it did have its appeal as well of course.

Sherlock slurped and swallowed around him, fondled his balls and the sensitive insides of his thighs, mumbling sentences like 'Father, you're so big' and 'You taste heavenly' and 'Your faith is dribbling out of you' whenever he was able to, making Mycroft grin and giggle, before the sensations overwhelmed him and he pulsed into the young sinner's greedily sucking mouth with force.

Still panting, he watched Sherlock scramble backwards and then his face appeared, wet from sweat and saliva and Mycroft's juices, his lips swollen from his efforts and his eyes sparkling.

He got up and straddled Mycroft's lap, slinging both arms around his neck and nuzzling his face against Mycroft's temple, and somehow this simple and romantic touch pulled another small eruption from Mycroft's cock and he could feel his essence dripping onto the floor.

“Fuck!” Sherlock made when he moaned. “You came again?”

“Yes,” Mycroft groaned. “And your filthy mouth missed it.”

“You're so naughty, Father. You're spoiling me!”

“Ha!” Mycroft grinned and pulled his brother close. His left hand fumbled with Sherlock trouser button. The bulge told him that Sherlock had enjoyed his services very much.

“Oh, Father!” Sherlock cried out when he finally wrapped his long fingers around the throbbing, hot boner.

Somehow Mycroft felt very odd about being called this… And Sherlock sensed it.

“Not good? What about Brother Mycroft then?”

Mycroft chuckled and pumped faster. “Would be very true after all…”

Sherlock cursed and clawed at his shoulder, his cheeks flushed with arousal. “Fuck, I'm coming…”

In wonder Mycroft watched him erupt all over the soutane, holding him while he was slumping against him.

“Hm,” Sherlock made against his neck. “That was nice…”

“Do you mind?” Mycroft surprised himself with this question. Finally he had realised what had made him feel so weird all the time.

“Mind what?” Sherlock looked at him with utter surprise.

“That I… fancied you when you were so young.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Where does this come from now? And you were only twenty-three then. Hardly the old, dirty seducer, and you never told me anyway back then! Of course I don't mind!”

But Mycroft remembered how guilty he had felt about his feelings for his little brother. Not only because incest was forbidden and considered as wrong as anything could be, but because Sherlock had still been a child after all. Of course Sherlock's brain had always been so far advanced but his emotions hadn't. He had been an extremely awkward boy when it came to emotions, and he had never managed to keep up until he had met John Watson and gotten together with Mycroft. Taking drugs had been his way to deal with the difficulties that came from a way-too-high intelligence combined with the problems of dealing with all the emotions he had always denied to have.

“It was not right,” Mycroft mumbled.

“Honey, you didn’t choose to fall in love with me, do you?” Sherlock eyed him closely. “Do you… regret it?”

“No! Of course not!” He pulled Sherlock close. “I wouldn't want to miss out on a minute we've spent together and that will never change. But back then… I wasn’t that much better than all these adult men who are abusing boys…” They had spoken about him falling for Sherlock when he had been that young but he had never admitted the guilt he was feeling about it.

Sherlock would have none of it. “But you didn’t! You would have never hurt me, and please do remember that _I_ made the first step!”

“True… Sorry for spoiling the mood.”

Sherlock kissed his cheek. “You didn’t. I guess it just had to come out eventually. But please – don't feel guilty about this. You didn’t do anything wrong and we're not doing it now.”

“No, we really don't. Well, I guess I should take care of the floor now or… do you possibly have the number of this guy who cleaned up here recently? He was very good at it.”

Sherlock grinned. “Sure I do. But it's Benedict's day off… But I will take care of the mess you made, Father Mycroft.”

Mycroft groaned. “That sounds as if I was your father…” This thought added a shade of vice to his feelings for Sherlock he didn’t want to think about.

“Nah. Not even you are old enough for that. It's just a respectful term of address for the priest you are not! Which you know very well. But hey… what about a Daddy –“

“No. Uh-uh!”

“Spoilsport,” Sherlock said with a wink.

Then he kissed him on the lips and Mycroft melted into the intimate tangling of their tongues. He was relieved that Sherlock had granted him absolution once more. And after all he knew that his feelings had never been the bad sort. He had never fantasised about forcing Sherlock into anything. Had never dreamt of hurting him and make him his victim. Whatever they did together was given freely, and it was based on deep, true love and that was how it should be.


	10. Tied To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John have solved a very delicate case that might remind you of a certain episode even though it ended a tad differently. Mycroft is jealous and Sherlock does his best to make up for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Sammy who suggested the use of a certain accessory :)
> 
> The next chapter is divided in two parts, therefore two more to go.

“Hehe, you should have _seen_ Sherlock,” John chuckled, getting back to the sore point with obvious glee. “He was red like a tomato when she stood there, totally naked except for her high boots.”

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. “I was not! Why would I be?!”

John ignored him. “He didn’t know where to look and she let him squirm and sweat, and she loved every second of it. It turned her on... I actually just waited for her to jump him.”

Mycroft had a very vivid picture on his mind. A picture he would have liked to erase with an axe… A naked, black-haired blackmailer, jumping his brother, clinging to him with long fingered hands with red nails and slim legs in narrow boots, rubbing her wet… He was suddenly feeling sick.

And Sherlock didn’t miss it. “I would have just slapped her away!” he insisted.

John chuckled again, and Mycroft felt the urge to yell at him or use the imaginary axe for a different purpose.

“Well…,” he said, trying to not show his exasperation, “what counts is that the case is solved, thank you very much, Doctor Watson.”

Sherlock looked as if he had slapped him. But it had been _John_ who had gotten them the bloody phone with the compromising photographs that showed her with a married, powerful man very close to the Queen in a number of artistic acts, and God knew what else was on it... No deductions, no cunning plan, no clever misleading had done the deed. Just raw violence… A woman who had been so sure of her appeal and her spell over each and every man had obviously managed to gain power over his gay little brother but she had completely failed at making the stocky, reasonable, heterosexual doctor fall for her shenanigans.

John had listened to her blathering and teasing and flirting with the stunned, helpless Sherlock, and then he had grabbed her, had taken the phone that she had shown Sherlock like a prize he would never get away from her and had sneaked his free left arm around her neck, pressing it until she had - certainly with her huge eyes bulging out of their holes, and Mycroft would have paid to watch this - given him the password, and it had been the right one. She had been arrested for blackmailing the Royal Family and was waiting for seeing the judge now. End of the case.

He stared at the pink phone that was lying on the desk before him as if it was poisoned. He couldn’t wait to get rid of it, may the MI5 have its way with the bloody thing. “Your help is very much appreciated. If you excuse me now, I have urgent matters to take care of.”

John got up but Sherlock seemed very reluctant to leave. Mycroft knew he wanted to speak to him alone to explain him what had happened, if he was able to do that at all. But somehow Mycroft didn’t feel like it now… He knew it was stupid and unfair and he didn’t have any reason to feel as jealous as he did. Sherlock had not wanted anything from this woman. He had been completely and utterly out of his depth, the victim of someone who knew which strings to pull and how to manipulate men, especially men who had no experience in dealing with women of her kind or actually any women at all, not from that close. He had reacted silly because he hadn't known how else to behave towards such sexually loaded, female cheekiness. And still it felt like a tiny bit of betrayal… And there was more. More that made his heart heavy and he couldn’t really name it. He knew it showed on his face and he could be glad that John was not able to deduce it.

“Come on, Sherlock!” John said. “You know Lestrade is waiting for us!”

“Yeah, just a…” He stopped when Mycroft took his own phone and dialled a number. Then he very reluctantly got up while Mycroft started speaking to the Foreign Minister who had indeed required him to call him.

“Bye then,” Mycroft heard his brother mumble, his eyes sad, and he regretted treating him like this.

He put the phone away from his mouth. “Bye, brother mine,” he said and Sherlock gave him an insecure smile that he returned.

Then his brother and the useful John Watson were gone but Mycroft had huge problems to concentrate on his phone call. And after it he just sat at his desk motionlessly for way too long.

*****

Sherlock had started writing a text for a dozen times. And had deleted it again. He just didn’t find the right words. He felt like the biggest idiot on earth. He heard John speak with Lestrade about the case the DI had asked them to come to the Yard for as if this conversation was happening far away from him. He did hear it, he did process it but with the unconscious, never stopping parts of his brain while the conscious divisions were busy with damning himself and screaming at him for being such a twat.

He had hurt his brother. Had made him feel jealous and bad and only because he'd had no idea how to deal with this situation and damn – he shouldn’t have been so out of his depth!

It wasn't as if he was completely inexperienced with women trying to get into his pants. Molly Hooper, for example… She would obviously never stop trying it. But when she hit on him, it was always in a very shy, subtle way; it was almost sweet. Almost. It was actually more annoying than anything else as he needed her to get access to the morgue whenever he required it; he couldn’t right-out tell her that she could forget it. And he liked her in a way. A distant, completely platonic way. She was a genuinely nice person, intelligent to some extent, helpful, friendly, loyal. She would probably make a great partner for a man that wasn't him…

There had been others, of course. He knew he was, in his strange, alien way, an attractive man even though he never showed the slightest interest in anyone and was arrogant and cold to everybody who wasn't some sort of friend like John or Mrs Hudson, not even mentioning his brother, and he figured that his inaccessibility even added to his appeal. Somehow a certain kind of women desired exactly what they just couldn’t have. Not _although_ but _because_ it was out of their reach. Sherlock wasn’t a psychologist and he didn’t really care. He ignored their longing looks and tries to flirt with him. He played to be completely oblivious and he figured he had very often in his past indeed been oblivious to women's interest in him when he had been thinking of an experiment or mused about something important or when he had just been completely bored…

In any way he could deal with women wanting him. He didn’t want them so should they crave for him if it made them happy, and if it didn’t, well, that wasn't his problem, was it? He never encouraged them!

So except for having been annoyed by Molly a few times, he didn’t really mind to be the centre of women's attention. He ignored it and that was it.

But this woman… He had never experienced anything or anyone like her.

She had been so… aggressive without even raising her voice. She had opened the door, totally naked except for her bloody shoes and had dragged him into her house by the arm. Her eyes had clearly said, _“I want to fuck you and you will not get away!”_ That he only now considered that she had perhaps even just played a part to scare him off and not be able to do what Mycroft had sent him for didn’t make it any better… He had taken it seriously and thought she would just try to rape him!

He had stammered like an imbecile, not knowing where to look or what to do and damn, she _would_ have jumped him if John hadn't saved his arse! And then?! Mummy Holmes had not raised a son who beat women… He had never felt so helpless and inadequate and stupid, and all of this because of a skinny, stark naked, unarmed girl two heads shorter than he was! It was ridiculous… And now Mycroft was upset and hurt and he couldn’t have that!

Never before had he wished more he could talk about his relationship with him to someone. John. Mrs Hudson. Damn, even Lestrade! What was he supposed to do now? Nothing seemed good enough. No heartfelt apology, no present, no loving love-making. Because he had seen something in Mycroft's eyes that his brother had not been able to hide from him. Pain. Doubt. Fear. He feared that one day someone would come who would lure Sherlock away from him. Perhaps not exactly this criminal whore. But perhaps a decent, good-looking, smart man. Someone whom Sherlock would not have to hide from his friends or their parents… With whom he could hold hands, share kisses, for everybody to see. It would never be like this for him with Mycroft. And Sherlock wouldn’t want to trade him in for anybody. He wanted Mycroft and nobody else, no matter that they had to be so discreet about their love. Nothing was more important to him than the love he shared with his brother but obviously this stupid incident had been enough to make Mycroft doubt it which made not only his failures today unforgivable… He had apparently not shown his brother enough what he meant to him.

And then he had an idea.

He turned to Lestrade. “It was her brother. It's about the money she inherited from an aunt or uncle. I have to go now.”

“But…”

“Won't come home tonight.”

He saw John opening his mouth but he just left.

Finally he managed to finish and send a text with shivering fingers.

_I love you. You. Want nobody else than you. Not today, not ever. Please be at home at 7. Will prepare dinner for you and await you in your bedroom. SH_

He had to wait a few long minutes for the answer but when it came, it made him close his eyes in relief.

_I know. I love you all the same. It was just… a strange feeling. Sorry that I was so cold to you. I will be there at 7. MH_

_Fine. Thank you. Please eat alone, get ready and then meet me in your bedroom. I know I don't deserve a reward but please, do it nonetheless. SH_

_Well, you two solved the case after all so of course you do. See you then. MH_

_Can't wait. SH_

_Me neither. MH_

*****

When Mycroft entered his house, it was silent, but once more Sherlock's coat told him he was awaited. Eagerly awaited he assumed. If he was honest to himself, he would have loved to pretend nothing had happened that day.

And actually nothing _had_ happened after all. He had sent Sherlock and John to a case (and he knew he would never use his brother's services again for such delicate matters to spare them a repeat of this) and they had fulfilled their task. That Sherlock had been rather helpless (he refused to think of him as _use_ less under any circumstances whatsoever) and that for a change John had been the one to take matters into hand, quite literally, didn’t really make a difference after all. The PM had been over the moon about the quick solution, and Mycroft had received a handwritten card from the Queen with heartfelt, quite touching thanks. The blackmailer was facing a trial. Case closed and everybody who counted was happy. Well, should be happy…

He wanted to forget it and move on and spend some nice hours with his brother and lover and not discuss this sore point. But he knew Sherlock wouldn’t accept this…

As instructed, he went to the kitchen first. Sherlock had prepared roast beef-sandwiches for him that he was supposed to eat on his own. As he was rather hungry, he gobbled them down pretty quickly. When he was finished, he slowly went upstairs. He pressed his ear against the bedroom door but didn’t hear anything. Feeling rather tense, he followed Sherlock's orders and took a thorough shower, slipped into his robe, brushed his teeth and shaved his stubble.

And then he took a deep breath and entered his bedroom. And stood on the spot, frozen.

“Sherlock…?”

But his brother couldn’t answer. He just looked at him with those fantastic eyes. They were full of love and a plea for a forgiveness that wasn't even necessary.

“Sherlock… You didn’t have to… How the hell did you do it? I figure nobody helped you?!”

Sherlock shook his head. And swallowed hard around the ball that gagged his mouth. Not just a ball – a professional silicone gag with blue strings leading around his head. It looked rather painful and Mycroft didn’t even want to imagine what it did to the corners of his delicate mouth. And God, how long had he been lying there like this? Tied to the bed with his arms, held by a long, also blue and also silicone bondage rope. How he had managed to do this himself was beyond Mycroft.

He came closer and looked up and down on the image on his bed. The arms spread widely, tied to the headrest of the bed. The legs, free but spread even wider. No clothing. And damn… something was poking out of Sherlock's exposed arse. It was the day of blue silicone as it seemed…

“Did you… get this stuff only today?”

Sherlock nodded.

“But why? To make me punish you? You know I can't do that. I'm not the… Daddy type.”

Sherlock shook his head just briefly and managed to shrug.

“So that's part of it… God, what if I hadn't been able to come home in time! It would have been impossible for you to free yourself!”

Sherlock shrugged again.

“You think you deserve it?” Sherlock's look was answer enough. “No, you don't! You did nothing wrong! I know you went there unprepared for this… behaviour. I didn’t foresee that either and I should have known it better.”

Sherlock stared wildly at him and he winced.

“No, not because I had any experiences with women! I don't and you know that! But… I knew what she was up to. I should have known she would try to confuse you. You are famous as a, well, virgin…” He had no idea where the papers had this from but well, it was the image that Sherlock cultivated. The man who didn’t have sex because it didn’t interest him as he was all brains and intellect. It had been true after all until a few months ago… The blackmailer was a smart woman but she had obviously missed that Sherlock was gay. Or perhaps she hadn't…

Sherlock had relaxed a bit and nodded with a sad expression.

“Don't feel bad anymore. It was silly of me to get jealous. As if you had any interest in such a human being, man or woman.” But what if… What if someone came who was not like her? A handsome, humorous man with more hair than he had? With a more exciting job than lurking in the depths of the government as a shadowy problem solver who even gave orders to kill people? A man who liked to travel for fun and could show Sherlock the world and with whom he could be… a part of a real couple that didn’t have to hide their love?

He swallowed when he saw a tear appear in each of Sherlock's eyes. With a few steps he was at the bed and urged Sherlock to lift his head so he could take off the gag. Very gently he fumbled the string out of his hair and pulled it over his head and then plucked the big ball out of Sherlock's mouth. Then he soothed the red, sore corners with his thumbs. “If you want to suckle at balls, you can have mine any time, little brother!”

Sherlock grinned and grimaced as it obviously hurt.

“You silly boy!”

“So are you! I deduced your thoughts! I already deduced them in your office, and you were not even aware of them.”

Mycroft sat down on the bed. “No, I wasn't. It just came to me like an epiphany.”

“It's bullshit, Mycroft! I don't want anyone but you! I was an idiot today and I'm glad that John was there to help me out, I can tell you. I can't hit a woman and probably it would have been the only way to get rid of her… She was so… scary!”

Mycroft surprised himself and Sherlock with the urge to chuckle. “I can imagine. Women are, I think. Especially if they are so determined. Well, you are beautiful. Of course she wanted you.”

“I actually doubt it; she wanted to confuse me and get out of this situation by embarrassing me. And even if she meant it - she would have never gotten me! Nobody ever did and will ever do but you! You are… all that matters, Mycroft. We can't go anywhere hand in hand or kiss in public and I have to lie to John all the time about what I'm doing when I go out, and yes, it does suck. But that's worth it!”

“I'm glad you see it like this. I don't really have to lie to anybody except for our parents but I also wish we didn’t have to hide it.” They hadn't met their parents since they had gotten together so he'd only had to deceive them on the phone which had been very easy. Christmas would be a challenge…

“Does that mean you're looking for someone else with whom everything would be easier?”

“No, of course not! I love you and only you…”

“See! It's the same for me. And I've felt so bad because I obviously failed at showing you how much you mean to me.”

Mycroft bent over and finally kissed him. “No, it's not like that. I know you love me. It was just… a weak moment I think. The 'he's too beautiful for me anyway'-moment.”

“Oh Mycroft! You are stunning! You are super smart! You have a heart of gold. For me, that is. Nobody ever stood a chance with me. You just said it yourself. I was a virgin, not interested in anyone getting closer to me. You changed that. You changed everything. I love you to the moon and back. Was that soppy enough now? Did you get it?”

Mycroft grinned. “You sappy old romantic… Yes. I got it. So what was this pose about? Me using you to punish you? Really? Showing me that you are tied to me?”

“Showing you that I'm yours. I'm yours to love and to make love to and to fuck senseless. Yours and nobody else's.”

Mycroft nodded, feeling stupidly happy. “I see. So what do you want me to do now? I love you, that's for sure. But do you want me to make love to you now or to fuck you senseless, helpless as you are?”

Sherlock, albeit not gagged anymore (and Mycroft figured he had gagged himself to make him talk and get to the heart of the problem by more or less talking with himself – the clever boy), didn’t say a word but his eyes said it all.

“Fucking you senseless is it then,” Mycroft said dryly and slipped out of his robe.

*****

Sherlock smiled while his brother was stuffing his head thoroughly with a few pillows.

“You're sure it's okay with the tied up arms?”

“Yes, no problem.”

Mycroft wrinkled his nose while glancing over his position on the bed. “You might hurt your shoulders with that. Tell me at once when this happens and I will free you in a second!”

“Okay, brother, I will.” Not that he really planned to do it. He would endure the pain to make his point. He was Mycroft's and Mycroft's alone and he was throwing himself at his feet to make up for his stupidity in the case and for letting Mycroft believe for even a second he could move on to someone else. Not going to happen!

Mycroft didn’t seem to believe him but he stuffed the pillows just a tad tighter under his head and neck and then he carefully arranged Sherlock's legs over his shoulders. After asking if he was still alright he gently removed the plug. Sherlock could feel the loads of lube he had put into his hole starting to trickle out.

“Take me now, dear, I'm well prepared.”

Mycroft had gotten hard when he had taken the plug out and teased Sherlock's quivering entrance, and he nudged the large crown of his head against it now. They both moaned when he breached the loosened muscle.

Sherlock could feel a pull in both of his shoulders when Mycroft started pumping into him slowly and he couldn’t help but grimacing slightly.

“I'm hurting you!”

“No. Go on. Fuck me, Mycroft! I want you!”

“You don't have to prove anything to me!”

 _Yes, I do…_ “Doesn't it turn you on? Me being at your mercy? Full of trust? Knowing you will never attack me? And you? Can you see now how much you mean to me? Giving all control up for you?”

Mycroft's face was expressing a conglomerate of feelings. Confusion. Joy. Arousal. Love. “I know you love me, Sherlock.”

“But you have to comprehend _how much_ I love you. Nobody will take me away from you. I told you before and I mean it.”

Mycroft nodded while still slowly moving his hips back and forth. “I know. But… You could find prettier men. With more hair… It's still there now but soon enough I'll be bald… And…”

“Mycroft!”

“Hm?”

“I don't want anyone else! I have enough hair on my head for both of us. I'll gladly share. I don't give a shit if you lose your hair, or your teeth. You will never lose being you. With all your facades. Your cleverness. Your dark humour. Your big heart. Your big dick…” Mycroft grinned and Sherlock beamed at him. “I love you, big brother. Nobody can replace you. Not now and not in twenty years. I need you to believe me!”

“I do, I…” And then Mycroft disentangled from him and proceeded to untie the rope around his right wrist.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm hurting you, Sherlock, and this is not going to happen. I got it. I don't need any proof.” With this he also freed his other hand, and Sherlock had to admit it was a relief to move his shoulders. “And I want your arms wrapped around me.”

And then their lips crashed together in a deep, loving kiss and Sherlock clung to him, and after a long moment Mycroft slipped back into him and they got lost in their increasingly deep, reassuring love-making which was still rough enough to fuck Sherlock senseless.

Sherlock bit down on Mycroft's shoulder when he could feel his climax come close and he groaned when Mycroft was the first to release himself, deep into his body. Sherlock shot his sticky seed between their stomachs and then collapsed on the bed, forcing Mycroft to lie down on him, directly into the mess he'd made.

Sherlock stroked his sweaty hair. “Mmm… That was nice.”

“Yes. Does anything hurt?”

“Just my arsehole.”

“Oh God!”

Sherlock chuckled. “Nah. Doesn't really hurt. Just a bit sore.”

Mycroft kissed his neck. “Thank you. For everything.”

“You must be kidding. So glad you are not angry at me. I hope I'll never meet someone like her again in my entire life. And I hope John will stop teasing me with it…”

“Take the gag with you…”

Sherlock laughed. “Oh, yeah. And the rope.”

“Hm. It's long enough to fit around his neck…”

“Nah, can't do that. I still need him.”

“Yes. He was very useful today.”

“He's a really good friend. I have all I need. The best and sexiest big brother on earth who loves me and spoils me, and my short, hands-on friend who'll save my arse every day if necessary. Nothing more to ask for.”

“And…”

“And what?”

“If you had to choose between us, Sherlock? If you could only keep one of us?”

Sherlock pinched his ear. “I'd always choose you, Mycroft. Over anybody and anything. And if you ever doubt that again, I'll bite off this long nose of yours, rip out every single one of your chest hairs and neuter you with my teeth.”

“Damn, where's this bloody gag?!”

They were still giggling when they slowly dropped off.


	11. Nose Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title says it all :) This is one of the smuttiest chapters I ever posted. I always found this nose fascinating :)

_So, Sherlock? MH_

_So what, Mycroft? SH_

_You know what! MH_

_Nope. SH_

Mycroft could literally hear the 'p'.

_Your reward! MH_

_Haven't made up my mind yet. Will let you know. SH_

_So you don't have an idea or you have so many you can't decide which one? MH_

_Hard to say. Oh, there's a client! Later! SH_

_Alright. Don't hesitate to text me. Or surprise me, if you like that better. MH_

_Don't fret, brother mine. I love you. SH_

_God, I love you, too. Thanks for your help again. MH_

_Always, big brother. SH_

Mycroft wasn't ashamed of that silly grin on his face.

*****

When Mycroft came home that evening, he was welcomed with a firm kiss, an even firmer arse-groping and delicious odours from the kitchen. “You cooked?”

Sherlock smiled. “I did. Come, my hard-working knight in shining armour. Time to feed you.”

“And then?”

“Whatever you want to do.”

“But… what do _you_ want to do?”

Sherlock tilted his head. “I think I'd go for some cuddles.”

“Cuddles?!”

“Yes. What's wrong with it?”

“Um, nothing of course. I love to cuddle with you.”

Sherlock beamed at him. It was disconcerting.

“You're planning something,” Mycroft concluded.

“Yes! I want to kiss you, too!”

“Okay… And then?”

“Hm, sex, I'd suggest.”

“Aha! And how?”

“Ah, I feel a bit lazy today. Had a lot of cases to solve. I think I'll just lie down and let you do the work. I can only be bothered to put my legs over your shoulders.”

“That's how you want it?!”

“Yes. Any problems?”

“Um, no. Course not.” Nothing wrong with this position. One of his favourites actually. Well, sex with Sherlock was his favourite, period.

“Great! Come, my beautiful big brother, let's have dinner.”

*****

“Oh, yes… that's it… just a tad harder… Oh!”

Sherlock was rolling his eyes in this certain way. The way that told Mycroft that he was doing a very good job with topping his brother.

He had sucked him and then licked his hole until Sherlock was a moaning mess. And now he was resting his hands on both sides of the black curls, Sherlock's long calves were indeed lying on his shoulders, and he was sliding deep in and nearly out of him with slow, deliberate strokes, and rather often he bent down for a deep, longing kiss. It felt heavenly as always when they had sex in this very intimate position.

And still…

Sherlock and John had assisted the kingdom once more and Sherlock had been supposed to claim his reward for it. By playing a nice, twisted, unusual game. Using Mycroft's body in a special way – and he still painfully remembered the nipple-clamps combined with the biggest plug this side of the universe. Doing something tremendously naughty that included the use of the ugliest blanket mankind had ever laid eyes on. Making Mycroft play his teacher, his boss, his prisoner, whatever.

But instead they were on his bed, in the middle of a very loving, very nice sexual act, pleasing both of their bodies immensely. Nothing wrong about it. Well, except for the well-known and completely ignored fact that it was forbidden by law and the stupid rules of society.

But it did make him feel rather weird. A tiny bit disappointed. Just a little rejected. A tad suspicious. Okay, more than a tad… He loved what they were doing and he knew Sherlock loved it too, no doubt about it. But it wasn’t like Sherlock that he let the opportunity to do something even more exciting, more arousing, slip away so easily and without any hint of remorse. Still Mycroft had the strange feeling that he was missing something.

And then Sherlock's long fingers reached around him and one of them cheekily poked into his hole and Sherlock groaned, “Fuck me harder, big brother mine,” and Mycroft stopped thinking and concentrated solely on their pleasurable, sensuous and very satisfying play.

 

**A few weeks later**

“Sherlock, what is wrong with you?” Mycroft let his fork fall onto his plate and cringed at the nasty sound.

Sherlock winked hectically after looking up from his phone. “What? The phone? Sorry, I know you don't like that but I was waiting…”

“I don't mean your bloody phone!” Mycroft all but whined. “I want to know why you don't want to play with me anymore!”

He realised how absolutely silly this had sounded even before Sherlock's lips twitched. “Aww, poor little Mycie gets rejected on the playground by his sandbox buddy! Did you forget your little spade? Shall Mummy come and comfort you?”

Mycroft didn’t know if he should feel hurt or amused by this rather insensitive but also bloody funny reaction. He couldn’t help but grin when Sherlock took his hand and beamed at him apologetically.

“It's amazing! All the time you said, 'No, we cannot do such a thing' and only gave in after complaining and baulking and shaking your head for two or three hours and now you're missing it.”

“I haven't really opposed it that much for quite some time,” Mycroft contradicted him. “And yes… I do miss it. I owe you four favours already!”

Sherlock got up to kiss him on the cheek. “Don't you worry.” He sat down again and then his phone rang. He took the call at once. “Hello, Mummy!”

Mycroft winced.

“No, it's all fine. I've just finished dinner… Yes… Not a problem… It's all settled! Can't wait either…” He listened for a long while. “Ah… Really?!... Very interesting…” He rolled his eyes at Mycroft playfully. “Yes, see you next weekend then! Bye! Greetings to Father!” Finally he ended the connection.

Mycroft stared at him. “So… You're going to visit our parents.”

“Great deduction! But not quite correct. _We_ are going to visit our parents.”

“Oh do we?” he asked rather dully.

“Mummy tried to reach you a few times but you didn’t call her back.”

“Oh, yes. True. I did plan to do it tomorrow. But…” Then he paled. “No!”

Sherlock tilted his head. “Sorry?”

“You planned this! For weeks!”

“Nah. Or did I?”

“No, Sherlock! No way!” Mycroft shook his head so hard that his ears were ringing. “I'm not going to do that!”

Sherlock frowned. “Mummy will be very disappointed if you don't show up.”

“You know I didn’t mean that!”

“But that's all we talked about!” Sherlock gave him an innocent smile.

“But that's not all you have in mind! I'm not going to have sex with you in our childhood home! With our parents a few rooms away! No way!”

Sherlock's eyes darkened for a moment but then he pressed Mycroft's hand. “Not demanding that, Mycroft. I just… want to be in the same bed as you are. When they are asleep. Just cuddle a bit. Kiss you. Imagine it was a dozen years earlier and we were already together.”

Mycroft swallowed and his heart was heavy all at once. A dozen years ago Sherlock had been seventeen. And on the verge of becoming a drug addict. They had never spoken about this. Why he had done it. To cope with his never-silencing brain, Mycroft had assumed. But that had certainly not been the only reason. He had never asked because he was feeling so guilty. If he had just shown his love for Sherlock, even in a platonic way, back then, showing him how deeply he cared for him, probably it would have never happened. “You were lonely,” he said, staring at their entwined fingers.

“Yes. Lost. Feeling useless. Not telling you to make you feel bad. I have no idea how I would have reacted if you had told me about your feelings. I really can't say. I hope I would have reacted enthusiastically and discovered mine for you. But maybe… not. I know we can't undo it. I don't even really want to. I needed this time, being so low, to appreciate what I have now. A happy life, a challenging life. You, my cases, John. You, above everything else. It… grounded me. Shaped me. I just wish I had appreciated how often you had come to my rescue. Pulled me out of drug dens by my ear.”

Mycroft smiled sadly. “I rather thought you hated me for that.”

“I was a rebellious young man. A brat, you might even say. Inexperienced in actually everything that counts. Of course I resented you for spoiling my… I can't say 'fun' because it wasn’t. Not mostly. It did make me feel sick and icky when I came back from my highs. But I felt like you lorded over me. You – the perfect, impeccable son, admonishing the black sheep, the hopeless case.”

“I never meant it like this. All I wanted was to help you. Save you…” Mycroft felt sore inside, thinking of these awful times. How easily could he have lost his brother forever, and he would have gone without knowing how much he meant to him…

“I know! I do know that now! I can't even begin to say how grateful I am that you never let me down. Not you, not our parents. You mean everything to me. And I want to be home with you, with them, as a family but as the family that we are now. I know we can't let them know and it will hurt, but I want to feel you there where our roots are. I don't think I make any sense, sorry…”

“Oh, you do. I know what you mean. And of course we'll go there. But we'll have to behave.”

Sherlock smiled. “I know. But perhaps I'm allowed to ask for something naughty for here and now, even though I called all my favours in with this…?”

“Of course!”

“I would like to sit on your face…”

“Oh, yes…”

“For quite a while…”

“For as long as you want.” That was not overly naughty anyway. It wasn’t as if they didn’t rim each other very often after all… The position was not that common though but something Mycroft really, really liked to do. The tent in his trousers certainly gave it away.

“Rub me on your nose…”

“Oh…” Sitting became more and more uncomfortable.

“You always liked to stick your big nose into my business, didn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that…” Well, of course Sherlock was right… It had just been for his benefit but still…

“So you can stick it as well up my arse!”

Mycroft stared at him for a moment and then he got up. “What are we waiting for?!”

*****

Mycroft had eaten in the finest restaurants over the past ten years. Tasted all sorts of unusual specialities. He was a connoisseur in food and wine.

But he had never tasted anything more delicious than his baby brother's arsehole. He would never get tired of devouring it. He was following a much-loved routine. For the start teasing Sherlock with circling his tongue around this luring orifice. Making his brother's thighs twitch at both sides of his head. Getting kicks against his ears he couldn’t have cared less about. Lapping at the wrinkled skin. Teasing it with the tip of his tongue. Fumbling his hands between his face and these impossibly soft and at the same time firm cheeks, feeling the warm, silky skin. Working both forefingers into the quivering entrance with the help of a small amount of lube. Carefully, oh so carefully. Watching the ring of muscles slowly giving way. Joining the small space between his fingers with his tongue. Licking Little Brother inside. Tasting him. Musky, soft, sensitive flesh. So sweet and salty. Enjoying Sherlock's more and more desperate moaning and wiggling.

But this was new.

He had opened him up thoroughly now. Had basked in the tormenting taste of his intimate insides.

And now he worked his nose in.

It was the strangest thing he had ever done with Sherlock. And that said _a lot_ … It wouldn't have worked with a usual, common, boring nose. With a pert, sweet little nose like Sherlock's. But his one was not from this world. Well, actually he could thank a certain Irish ancestor for it. Not that he would have really thanked him. He had hated this nose when he'd been younger. It was awfully, extremely prominent and it drew all the attention of anyone who looked at him.

Mycroft did like his eyes. They were not as unusually beautiful as Sherlock's that managed to be all shades of blue and green and changed their colour within seconds. His eyes were ordinarily light-blue. But they were big and clear and his eyelashes were almost as long and pretty as Sherlock's. His eyes were fine.

His lips were not nearly as plush and shaped as Sherlock's but they had a sensuous bow. They were nothing people would write serenades about, unlike Sherlock's (and he had even found some rather clumsy serenades about them online) but they were appealing.

His ears were small and well-shaped. Nothing wrong with them. He even liked his high forehead (but not so much his too-fine hair that would leave him in large parts in a not that distant future) and he was a tad proud of the dimple in his chin, especially because Sherlock was very fond of it.

He didn’t consider himself as stunning or beautiful, unlike his high-cheekboned, sparkly-eyed, thickly-curled, Greek-god-like stunner of a brother, but all in all, he would say he was rather handsome.

And then this nose. Standing out of his face like a grotesque exclamation mark. As if someone had thought, 'damn, I forgot the nose!’ and had smashed an exceptionally memorable specimen into his nicely handsome face to make up for it. Mycroft had struggled with it for ages.

But eventually, he had accepted it. It was a part of him after all. He could have seen a surgeon for it, sure, but he would have never heard the end of it from Sherlock if he had done it before they had gotten together, and now Sherlock would be upset that he changed anything about his looks. Mycroft would never find it attractive, but he was okay with it now because Sherlock didn’t mind it. Actually he liked to kiss it. Pull at it with his wonderful lips. Say that it proved that there was a connection between a big nose and a big dick even though Sherlock himself proved that this was bullshit.

In any way it was what it was, his nose, and he had made his peace with it.

And now he was finally really making use of the large, long, bulbous thing by shoving it into Sherlock's loosened hole.

It was an explosion of odours. He had tasted Sherlock's arse of course, had sniffed it so thoroughly that any dog would have gotten jealous, but now that it was trapped in this tight muscle, the nostrils pressed together, the world seemed to solemnly consist of Sherlock's sweet, musky, spicy flavours and a hint of lemon, coming from the lubrication. He had to breathe through his mouth obviously and it was actually quite painful to have his nose being restricted like this but he didn’t care, moving back and forth, and he added the infatuating taste to the seductive smell when he lapped away at Sherlock's perineum and the underside of his soft, swollen balls with his also very long tongue. His senses were overloaded with lust and his cock was throbbing achingly.

Sherlock was grunting above him, wiggling to get his nose even deeper inside him, and Mycroft could hear him masturbate frantically.

“Yes! God! Smell me! Fuck me with your nose!” he exclaimed now, having gotten used and addicted to the sensation obviously, and Mycroft needed all his self-control to not suffocate by giggles.

He groaned when Sherlock grabbed his so far neglected but hard dick and pumped it viciously. And then his nose popped out of his brother's arse when Sherlock bent forward to suck him, and Mycroft grabbed his lover's hot, thick prick to do the same in a feverish, needy 69 that couldn’t last long. Groaning and screaming, they climaxed into each other's mouths and Mycroft felt himself being drunk empty while he swallowed Sherlock's excessive load.

A moment later Sherlock collapsed next to him, his head on his thigh. “Fuck, wow, so…”

He didn’t have to form a coherent sentence. “Yes,” Mycroft mumbled.

“How was it?”

“The smell? Gorgeous. Too bad you can't do the same.”

Sherlock grunted. “Yeah. Can't do that with my boring English nose. You were always proud of your fantastic Irish sniffer.”

“It’s not boring at all. And I wasn’t!”

“Ah, deep inside you were. Makes you special. Even more special…”

Mycroft smiled and brushed a kiss on Sherlock's hot thigh. “No envy, brother mine. You have your cheekbones and thick hair and these glorious eyes and the sculpted stomach and gorgeous arse and I have my long nose. It's all fair.”

“I love you,” Sherlock mumbled. “All of you. Inside, outside. You're perfect.”

“Nah.” Mycroft felt a deep warmth blossom in his chest.

“Oh yes. To me you are. Dimple's not fair though. Want one, too.”

“No way. It would make you even cuter and that just can't be. Come here.”

He urged Sherlock to turn around so they faced each other. Their lips met in a long, tender snog, their hands searching and finding the warm skin of the other one's back.

“I love you, Sherlock. Thank you for being the sexiest, most creative and depraved man in the world. The smartest, apart from me. The funniest, in your own very special way. I'm so blessed with you being my little brother. And my not so little lover.”

Sherlock smiled and pinched his cheek. “I'm so glad you always indulge me. Nobody gets me like you do. Nobody could ever have. And now you've fucked me with all possible parts of your body. Well, not quite!”

Mycroft had to think about that for a moment and then he grinned. “I don't think poking my big toe into you is very erotic, Sherlock.”

“One day…”

“Yes, Sherlock. Knowing you, and knowing me - one day.”

And in a few days they would see their parents for the first time since they had gotten together. It did make him nervous but it was inevitable of course. And he knew it would add even more depth to their relationship.

Everything for his little brother. Everything for the man he loved more every day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will take a while. Not sure if it will be one or split in two but in any way it will not be up that soon.


	12. Visiting The Parents - Casual Bed Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not that smutty but the boys go at it in Mycroft's former room.

“Hello Mummy!”

“Oh, Sherlock, come here! Look at you! You're so gorgeous, my baby!”

Sherlock smiled when his mother pulled him into a crushing embrace but he rolled his eyes when he felt her fingers poking into his ribs in a way he knew all-too-well and had always disapproved of. Not only because it made him feel like a child. He didn’t like to be touched. Well, at least by anyone who wasn’t his brother, who could touch him in any way he liked to. Apart from him, an embrace was tolerable. A peck on the cheek was the most he could bear. But his mother didn’t seem to know that. She reminded him of a certain character in an old fairy-tale and he knew what she was going to say…

She didn’t disappoint him. “Oh, how thin you are! Mycroft, you should make him eat properly!” She let go of Sherlock to embrace her elder son equally lovingly, and the brothers shared a glance.

 _Don't worry, Mummy – he does make me eat pretty often and I don't mean our dinners together…_ It was no surprise to him that Mycroft deduced his naughty thoughts and raised his right eyebrow and the right corner of his mouth in an admonishing smirk.

Then Mycroft winced when it was his turn to be attacked by their mother's intrusive hand, and Sherlock knew he didn’t like that any more than he did. “Good! You are slim but not starving!”

“Cake. That's his secret,” Sherlock said dryly before he greeted his father who had just hurried out of the living room with a wide smile.

“You should try that, too, Sherlock,” was the equally dry response from his brother.

Sherlock snorted and suppressed a grin when his father shook his head with a good-natured eye-roll.

There hadn't been much to discuss about their behaviour towards each other around their parents. They couldn’t be as hostile as they had been before as Sherlock had already told his mother – to her delight - that they were getting along slightly better now, and they wouldn’t have paid their parents a visit together if they didn’t anyway.

Plus, they had come in the same car. Mycroft had borrowed a small, black government car and Sherlock had driven them. Mycroft could drive as well but he wasn’t very keen on doing it. He was used to the services of a chauffeur anyway, being able to read and make phone calls on his way. Sherlock of course didn't have much practice either but he had always been a good driver and had brought them to their destination without any problem. Mycroft had left the office pretty early this Friday afternoon and he had taken some work with him to make up for it, obsessed with his duties like he always was. Sherlock knew he had planned on glancing over it on their way here but in the end he had not even taken the report out of his briefcase at all and he hadn't seemed to miss it in the least. They had just talked and enjoyed each other's company for those nearly two hours. It had been just lovely and it had said loud and clear 'You're more important than my job' and Sherlock loved that.

But now they had to play their parts as convincingly as possible, bickering like they had always done but be slightly less nasty to each other. And behind closed doors…

“So good to have you here, boys,” Father said, and Sherlock smiled.

Yes, it was nice to be, well, home. Of course it had been only their parents' residence for many years now, and his childhood bedroom functioned as a guest room, but it had been his home until he had been eighteen. It was all familiar, homely, nice. He realised that he had missed being here, missed being with his parents who had always supported him, no matter how much heartbreak he had caused them – just like it was with Mycroft. He would simply enjoy this weekend. And he would definitely enjoy spending two nights in the same bed with Big Brother. He would have to behave, Mycroft had said. Well. He would. To some extent… He knew his brother would be terribly disappointed if he was too decent, and that couldn’t happen.

*****

It was the weirdest dinner of Mycroft's life. He had thought it would be easy – deceive their parents by being around Sherlock like he had always been, albeit a tad less sarcastic. But he would still admonish him and be generally condescending.

He did succeed in playing his part – at least he didn’t sense any confusion on Mummy's and Father's side. But it was a lot harder than he had thought, which was ironic as he was so used to never show his feelings and instead let people see his well-worn mask of superiority and sarcasm and coldness. Of course not towards his parents; he had always been a 'good son'. He did like them even though they had no idea who and how he really was. And they knew even less about Sherlock. Which was good because otherwise they might have seen through the masquerade. Sherlock played his role well, too, but the glimmer in his eyes when he teased Mycroft or asked him rather impolitely to hand him whatever he requested was not exactly invisible.

And he was struggling to be 'big brother who knew everything better'. He had to be but he would have much rather taken Sherlock's hand and peck him and smile at him, and he could see that his brother was thinking exactly the same.

Of course they could never do this. Never fail at being the brothers their parents had known all their lives. Everything depended on it.

He had no idea how they would react if they knew the truth because he didn’t know them any better than they knew him. They were straightforward, well-mannered, friendly people, decent to the core. The sheer thought of something as shocking as incest must appal them. But then – all they had ever wanted for him and Sherlock was to lead a fulfilling life and be happy.

They had been worried about Sherlock for so long as he had struggled so badly for such a long time. But now he had found his niche in the world and was doing so well at being the world's single consulting detective, and Mycroft knew the elder Holmes were very proud of him. And even though they didn’t really know what Mycroft was really doing in his position, he knew they were proud of him as well; it was actually rather sweet to see their wide eyes when he talked casually about having met the Queen or one of the princes, and he only did that at all to please them.

He was quite sure they knew both their sons were gay. Neither of them had ever come out to them or any other family member but it was hard to miss. Especially because Mummy had never asked either of them when they were supposed to become grandparents. They seemed to know it would never happen. When Mycroft had been much younger, she had carefully asked from time to time if he was with someone, but when he had always denied it – of course not mentioning his very rare sexual encounters with meaningless men, let alone his desire for his little brother – she had eventually stopped asking, and he was sure she had done the same with Sherlock.

Their parents didn’t interfere in their personal lives and obviously trusted them to know what was good for them. But he was as sure as he could get that they would not accept the reality of their sons being in a romantic, sexual relationship with each other. He assumed it would destroy them and this couldn’t happen. Of course last but not least because if it ever came out, it would also destroy their careers and possible cost them their freedom. He didn’t think they would give them away on purpose but he doubted they would be able to hide their shock from the rest of the extended family they had vivid contact with. And Mycroft didn’t trust any of _them_ …

So they had to keep it a secret even towards their parents – especially their parents.

And still he was here with Sherlock and planning to sleep in the same bed. Was that madness? Possibly. But it was what Sherlock longed for and Mycroft would never deny him anything that he could give him. They just had to be careful. They both knew that. But he craved for contact with him as badly as his brother did.

“Dessert?” Mummy asked with a wide smile.

“Mycroft takes two,” Sherlock said before Mycroft had a chance to say anything.

“Yes,” Mycroft replied without looking at his brother. “As you will skip it of course. The skinny boy doesn’t know what he's missing,” he added, turning to their mother.

“Ah, you boys! Always bickering!” she said with a raised eyebrow and a fond, only a tad exasperated sigh while Father just chuckled and drank a sip of water.

It was all good.

*****

Mycroft smiled when Sherlock poked his head in. “Come in, love. It's safe I guess?”

Sherlock smiled back. “They're asleep. Took them long enough,” he complained when he slipped into the room – a long time ago Mycroft's room and now a homely guest room - and locked the door.

“People their age don't need so much sleep.”

“I should have put something into their glasses.”

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock lay down next to him on the guest bed. “I didn’t. Tomorrow.”

“No you won't!” He grinned when Sherlock giggled against his neck. “Patience is a treat, brother dear. One you never paid much respect to.”

“Patience is boring. This isn't.”

Mycroft could hardly argue with this. Sherlock had lifted his head and now his lips claimed Mycroft's in a deep, passionate kiss. They were both wearing pyjamas; he had been surprised that Sherlock owned any at all as his brother preferred sleeping in the buff, but of course he couldn’t walk around naked or in shorts in this house.

It didn’t surprise him when Sherlock's hands slid under his pyjama top, covering his chest and back with loving touches. Their groins seemed to find each other by themselves and soon enough they were moaning into the other one's mouth.

Their parents' bedroom was on another floor and far away from Mycroft's so they would not hear them. Not as long as they stayed there. But Mycroft knew that Mummy sometimes woke up and wandered through the house at night.

He pulled away a bit. “Sherlock…”

“Sorry.” The younger man turned around in his embrace and snuggled backwards against him.

Of course this didn’t make it any better… Mycroft's dick was hard and straining against the thin fabric of his pants and into Sherlock's luring but clothed crack.

He sighed against Sherlock's ear. “We both know it will happen.” He chuckled when Sherlock immediately slid his trousers down, and he reached under his waistband to get out his hard penis. “Let me just get some lube…”

“It's in already.”

“What?” Mycroft's hand found his brother's warm, damp crack and then he felt something poking out. “Let me guess – it's blue?”

“Nah. Red. Wanted a bigger one so I can take you at once.”

“So smart, boy.” Mycroft gently removed the plug and without any hesitation he lined his dick up, pressing the head against the twitching and very wet opening. It slid in without much resistance. Sherlock moaned and Mycroft clamped his hand over his mouth. “You must be quiet!”

“Sorry,” Sherlock mumbled against his palm.

Mycroft kissed his ear. “Bite my hand if you must but don't scream.” He knew this wasn’t an exactly good idea. But damn – he wanted it, too.

It threw him back so many years to a time when Sherlock had been a teenager and his desperate crush. He would have died for being in bed with his baby brother like this back then, and he imagined how it would have felt while he was taking him with deep and slow strokes, almost sliding completely out to push into him to the tilt the next moment. He knew he would have felt massively guilty – invading this boy that meant so much to him, so young, still crazy for his (very professional) chemistry set, so awkward around other people and so passive-aggressive towards him. He would have been even thinner than he was now, all pale skin and sharp bones, his arse not quite as plush and cushioning as it was now.

And still he had wanted him. What kind of man did that make him?

“Stop thinking,” Sherlock said, his teeth meeting Mycroft's fingers.

He took his hand away. “Easier said than done, brother mine.”

“We've had this before, Mycie. It wasn’t wrong, and it _isn't_ wrong.”

Mycroft kissed his cheek from behind, continuing to fuck him in this slow, steady pace. “I'm glad you think so, Sherlock.”

“Oh, please, big brother, fuck me harder, show me innocent little boy how good that feels! Grab my little dick!” Sherlock begged in a childish voice and Mycroft giggled against his hair.

“You're such a brat, Sherlock. And be quiet!”

“Ah, come on – it's safe,” Sherlock retorted in his normal voice.

Mycroft obeyed and soon they were both panting, getting closer to the edge with every passing moment. Mycroft masturbated Sherlock's cock in the rhythm of his strokes now, and Sherlock was the first to come, all over his hand.

“Give me,” Sherlock demanded and Mycroft lifted his hand for him to lick it clean.

The naughtiness of this act, performed completely nonchalantly and with humming noises of approval, was the last push needed for Mycroft to climax deep in Sherlock's body. He knew he should have used a condom but since it was too late for this, he took to gently push Sherlock on his stomach as soon as he had pulled out, and then he put his tongue to good use while Sherlock was giggling into the pillows.

“You're really depraved,” he stated when Mycroft had finished cleaning him up and pulled him against his chest.

“Yes, I am.”

“I'm so glad. Thank you for this.”

“So did it fulfil your fantasy?”

Sherlock turned around to face him, slinging his left arm around his waist. “Yes. Now you made me yours in all places that count. Your house, Baker Street – even though I would like to do that some more – and our childhood home, even though this room doesn’t look like it did back then. But perhaps… Well, later.”

Mycroft smiled. “Why was I already sure this wasn't the end of this adventure? Well, as long as it is safe, you can have me in any way you want.”

“And that's not going to change, right?”

“No, Sherlock. Till death do us part.”

They were both quiet for a moment and Mycroft knew what Sherlock was thinking. Mycroft was older but Sherlock led the more dangerous life… He didn’t even want to think about this possibility.

Sherlock seemed to have decided to take their conversation to a lighter subject. “Hm. Father Mycroft could marry us!”

Mycroft laughed. “Oh, yes. But that would be a tad complicated as I would have to switch places and clothes all the time.”

“True. But then… Father Sherlock could marry you and the doll!”

“Your ideas get crazier and crazier!”

Sherlock pouted. “Silicone-Sherlock would look good in a black suit!”

“Even better in a wedding dress…” He saw Sherlock's eyes lighten up. “That was a joke, right!”

“Spoilsport.” Sherlock snuggled against him. “I wish we could get married, Mycie.”

Mycroft kissed his forehead. “Yes, me too. But then – we're already as closely related as possible. We don't really need another certificate that links us together.”

“You're such a romantic.” Sherlock bit his chin.

“Ouch! I know what you mean, Sherlock. But in our hearts we are married, aren’t we? That’s what counts. Let's sleep now, dear. I love you.” He knew they had to fall asleep rather early if they wanted to spend the night together. He should have sent Sherlock away but he couldn’t do that.

“Love you, too, husband.”

The word did things to Mycroft's heart. But he also felt that's what they were. Or… “Brusband,” he corrected him.

Sherlock smiled. “Brubby.”

Mycroft chuckled. “You win.”

“I always do. I got you.”


	13. Visiting The Parents - Love In The Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An afternoon on the elder Holmes' property.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will post the last two chapters at once.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left kudos and/ or commented. I hope you enjoyed the ride.

“I'm so sorry we have to leave you two alone,” Mummy said. “But she has nobody else to look after her.” She and Sherlock were sitting in the living room, an hour after lunch.

Sherlock smiled. “That's fine, don't worry about us. I hope she gets better soon.” He barely recalled Aunt Aurora but he figured it was the one with the smoking hair and the missing eyebrows. At least when he had seen her last, about fifteen years ago. When she had stumbled onto a chemical experiment in his room during a dreadfully boring birthday party. She had really overreacted…

His mother looked at him for a very long time before she laid a hand on his cheek. “You're so grown up now, my dear.”

“I'm almost thirty, Mummy. It's about time.”

She smiled back. “We've always loved you, Sherlock. No matter how much trouble you got yourself into. I hope you know that.”

“I do.”

She nodded. “Why don't you and Mycroft go out this afternoon? I'll prepare something for tea you can take with you. Your brother is so pale; he needs some fresh air, sitting in his office all day.”

Of course Mycroft was pale by nature, just like Sherlock, but he didn’t mind this suggestion at all. He had planned to lure Mycroft out of the house anyway. “That's a good idea. Just make sure you provide him with enough to eat so he won't starve on the way.”

Before his mother could reprimand him for that, his brother and their father came into the living room, talking about Uncle Rudy.

“Oh, how's the old man?” Sherlock asked while Mummy poured water into two glasses.

“Still going strong.”

“On high-heels?”

“Sherlock!” came from three people simultaneously and he grinned, especially as he hadn't missed the sparkle in Mycroft's eyes.

“What? They fit him well!” He was in a very good mood. There was a sunny afternoon ahead of the Holmes brothers to spend on their own outside, and he was absolutely looking forward to it.

*****

“God, I totally forgot how huge it is.”

Mycroft nodded. They had been walking for ten minutes, towards the little forest that surrounded the house, and they were still on their parents' property, and it wasn't the end yet. Not nearly.

“Do you… want to keep it?”

“What do you mean?” He looked at his brother, who was carrying the basket with their supplies and a blanket to sit on.

“I mean when… They won't live forever. Don't know if they'll split it or if you'll get it all.”

Strangely enough, Mycroft didn’t know that either. Both his and Sherlock's lives were happening in London; they hardly came here except for Christmas which was mostly hectic and so far it had been rather hostile. These times were over of course. “If I inherit it all, Sherlock, it will still be ours, I hope that was clear.” He would make sure they would both be the owners in the land registers, at equal shares. He had already set up a will with Sherlock being the only beneficiary of his own money and house without telling him. This was a very touchy subject after all and he was rather sure Sherlock knew it anyway. No need to speak about something that depressing, but he was glad it was all sorted.

Sherlock smiled. “So – will we keep it? Come here every once in a while to spend some time here?”

“You know what – that sounds very nice to me.”

“Yeah. Um… do you think… we could go somewhere else? I mean – this will happen in many years, I hope. But we could go somewhere. Invent a case. Find an excuse. Go somewhere where they don't know me.”

Mycroft stood and pulled Sherlock close. “Yes, we will do that. End of next month I'd say.” He should have really thought of this himself.

“If there are no emergencies of course. Death of the Queen, that sort of thing.”

“She'll outlive us all, little brother,” he joked. “We'll do that. Still have to be very careful. You're most famous here but there's still the internet…” They could go to France. Not Paris. The countryside. A place like this. Nature. Peace. No people. He would do some research as soon as they were back.

“I know.” Sherlock kissed his cheek. They had reached the forest now. All they heard were the birds; nobody had a reason and a right to be here. “That would be lovely. Come. I know a great place for tea.”

A few minutes later they left the forest behind and Mycroft saw their destination. He had totally forgotten about it. The lake. Still on the Holmes property, a peaceful, quiet place, surrounded by more high trees and lots of bushes.

Sherlock put the basket on the ground and Mycroft helped him putting the blanket on the damp grass. They sat down and Sherlock provided him with tea and a sandwich.

“I may eat again?” Mycroft teased him.

“I really hope you don't take any of this seriously.”

“No, I don't. I kind of like it. Deceiving them. It's nasty actually but…”

“It's our secret. Secrets are great.”

Mycroft pulled him in for a kiss which made them both almost spill their tea. He knew Sherlock suffered from having to be so discreet about their love and it touched him that he was willing to see the positive sides. “Did you come here often? When I was busy with my studies and when I was gone?”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes. Very often. I loved to just sit here. And swim. Watch the frogs.”

“Take them home to experiment on them?” Mycroft teased him.

“No! I never did such stuff!” Sherlock was seriously upset and Mycroft soothed him with another kiss.

“I know. You almost burned the house down and nearly fried poor Aunt Valessa on Mummy's fiftieth birthday but you never hurt an animal.”

“Oh, that was her! What about Aunt Aurora then?”

Mycroft chuckled. “She was the one who you deduced had an affair with their butler. Nasty evening…”

“Oh… I do recall that. Ah, memories.” He glanced over the lake reverently.

Mycroft sighed. “Will we have sex in it after tea or will we come back tonight to do it?”

Sherlock beamed at him. “The water is warmer now!”

“We'll have to get it over with quickly.” There was no point in protesting.

“I know. No intercourse. Just some heavy fumbling.”

“Only if I may shoot in your face.”

Sherlock almost choked on his sandwich. “Pervert!”

“One could think that's my middle name…”

“It really should be!”

“I love you, that's all.”

“I could eat you alive.”

“You have tried.”

“And I will try again…”

“Alright then. Let's get naked.”

“Oh, I _love_ you, Mycroft!”

Mycroft smiled.

*****

Sherlock wondered why he had always complained when his parents had insisted on a visit. Why he had hated it to leave the busy, noisy streets of London behind, even for a few days. This was so different. The silence, only interrupted by the chirping of the birds in the trees and the splashing of the water around them. It was really a lovely place.

But perhaps it had a lot to do with the man he had wrapped his arms around. They were standing in the middle of the warm, clean lake, cheek on cheek, and he was so aware of his brother's arms around his waist and his naked body pressed against his. Mycroft was home for him and this was their former home, and it meant double as much.

Mycroft's old room had not resembled its old self, just as Sherlock's did, but still it was the same room his brother had slept in throughout his childhood- and teenage years. It had been very special to make love to him in his former chamber, knowing that Mycroft had lain in this room, thinking and fantasising about him.

And now this – being so close in the open, in the middle of the day. Nobody had a reason to come here but it was a risk – in the end they didn’t live here and had no idea who used to trespass. He was so grateful that Mycroft had agreed on this so easily.

He turned his head to kiss his cheek, then his lips, and soon they were melting in a long, loving kiss and his hands reached behind Mycroft to stroke and caress his back and his arse.

He would have loved to drag this out but he knew they should get back before their parents returned. Slowly he kissed his way down on his brother's face, his long neck and the hairy chest, paying extra attention to both nipples, making Mycroft moan and dig his fingers into his shoulders.

Slowly he got down on his knees, holding onto Mycroft's thighs, and lapped at the tip of his hard dick, tasting the water of the lake and the saltiness of his brother's arousal. He started to suckle at the wide head, taking it deeper when Mycroft's hands found the back of his head, not pressing him down but urging him to give him more. Sherlock relaxed his throat and then it was full, full of Mycroft, full of hardness, and it was tough; he rarely deep-throated him because of his size, but he wanted it now. He briefly thought that if Mycroft closed up his nose now, he would asphyxiate. Not that his brother would ever do this…

“Sherlock…” Mycroft groaned; his legs were trembling under Sherlock's hands.

Sherlock soothed him with gentle strokes and let him slide out a bit just to swallow him again, rubbing his right forefinger in Mycroft's warm, wet crack, eventually finding his hole and slipping the tip of his finger inside. He should have known that was too much.

“Fuck, Sherlock…”

And then his throat was flooded with sticky warmth and Sherlock swallowed around the seriously spurting dick until it softened in his mouth.

He was pulled up as soon as he had let the intruder slide out of his mouth.

“Sorry,” he said with a coy look. “I didn’t manage to make you come into my face.”

“Oh, Sherlock…” He was rewarded with a deep, slightly toothy kiss. “It's true though,” Mycroft said then. “So you will have to come into mine instead.”

“I think that can be arranged. On your knees, fiend!”

Mycroft chuckled and Sherlock helped him find a sort-of-comfortable position.

It felt heavenly. Standing there, in the bright sunshine, his brother's lovely lips wrapped around his dick, sucking gently and then harder and harder. Sherlock could feel his toes curl whenever Mycroft lapped over his slit and moaned at the taste.

He looked down on him and Mycroft winked. He was an awesome sight. His dark hair with the slight red shimmer damp and curled, his blue eyes so bright, the long lashes wet. His cheeks were reddened and so were his lips. Drops of water were glistening on his shoulders that had taken a shade of pink as well. His brother's skin was even more sensitive than his own and he would probably sunburn a little.

With a last firm suck and a slurping noise, Mycroft let his dick slide of his mouth and turned his attention to his smooth balls instead. Sherlock groaned and grabbed his boner, stroking it, knowing his completion was not far. His brother's tongue on the underside of his testicles, licking teasingly, and his hands grabbing his arse cheeks hard drove him over the edge. With a groan he emptied his balls all over Mycroft's face, painting it with thick stripes of come. Mycroft smiled through sticky lashes before he briefly plunged, scrubbing his face under water, before he got on his feet again to embrace Sherlock.

They kissed for a long time before Mycroft slapped his arse. “Let's get dry and then we should go back.”

“Thank you, Mycie. This was awesome.”

“Yes, it really was. And it was my pleasure.”

They shared a smile and Sherlock knew he would never forget this afternoon, and that he would miss being here, so far away from the streets of London, more than actual miles away from any exciting case. He knew he could get used to this. But of course their lives were happening in London. His job, Mycroft's job. They did belong there. But he knew a part of him, a very different part from his detective persona, wished they could just stay.


	14. Visiting The Parents - Getting Tactile In The Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little surprise for the Holmes boys. On their way back to London, Sherlock gets indulged once more.

“Oh, you got a nice colour!”

Mycroft grimaced. “Well, yes. Red colour…” He had slightly stinging sunburn on his neck and shoulders. He should have used some protection but he had not even considered it.

Mummy got up at once. “I'll get some balm.”

“That would be nice.”

“You should have stayed in the shadow,” she said while she was leaving the living room.

“We mostly did.” Only that this hadn't been possible in the lake…

He thanked his mother when she came back.

“I can rub it in for you.”

He smiled. “No, thanks. I'll do that in my room.” Of course he hoped Sherlock would do it… “How's Aurora?”

Mummy grimaced. “Complaining as always. Shushed us around all afternoon. Did you two have a good time?”

 _Oh yes…_ “It was pretty nice. Sherlock behaved for a change.”

“I heard that.” Sherlock entered the room, giving him his best raised eyebrows.

“You always hear what you are not supposed to.”

“That was a weak reply, Mycroft. I’m sure you can do better.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and caught Mummy smiling at him.

“Dinner will be in an hour. Sherlock, help your brother applying this balm, and be in time. You must be hungry.”

Mycroft wondered why she thought the dozen sandwiches for tea hadn't been enough. But that was just Mummy, always caring, always worried her boys could starve.

Of course Sherlock had to respond to that. “Mycroft is always hungry.”

“Why don't you just shut up, brother dear?”

Sherlock scowled at him. “Guess the sun burned out the last hint of your sense of humour…”

“Shame it didn’t burn out your malice.”

“Boys, please!” Father had come into the room. “I really thought you got along better!”

“Apologies. Sherlock just regresses when he's back here I'm afraid.”

“And Mycroft seems to think I'm still thirteen when we're here.”

“Because that's how you behave.”

Sherlock snorted and stalked out of the room. Mycroft gave his parents an apologetic look and followed him.

They had just reached his room when Sherlock slammed the door shut and captured his smiling mouth in a wild kiss. The sun balm was only applied a frantic mutual hand job later.

*****

Sherlock kissed him a last time before he carefully left his room to take a shower and get dressed. Mycroft sent an approving glance to his brother's arse, only covered by the thin pyjama trousers, and took care of his own morning hygiene in the small bathroom his parents had added to his former chamber.

They would have breakfast with their parents and then drive back to London. He had told the elder Holmes that he had to prepare a meeting for the next morning. In fact he wanted to spend some safe time with his brother before Sherlock would return to Baker Street. They had woken up so late that they had just fumbled a bit under the blanket. He couldn’t wait to have proper sex with Sherlock later.

He went downstairs after dressing and found his mother in the kitchen. They had a housekeeper but she only helped with cleaning and the stuff the elder people couldn’t do anymore. The kitchen was still Mummy's realm.

“Good morning, Mummy.”

“Good morning, Myc. Oh, your sunburn is looking bad!”

“It’s okay, it looks worse than it feels. The balm helped.” Sherlock had just refreshed it.

“I'm sad you'll have to leave so soon. But it was great to have you two here.”

“We'll come more often,” Mycroft promised, and he meant it.

Mummy smiled and provided him with a cup of tea. “Sit down with me for a moment.” Breakfast would be taken in the living room but tea was always ready in the Holmes house.

“Don't you need help with…”

“Mycroft! I'm still very capable of making breakfast for my men!”

“Sorry, Mummy.” They shared a smile and Mycroft looked at her hand that had found his.

“You know, Mycroft… I was always worried about your brother. You were so strong, all your life. Too serious sometimes, yes, but I've always known that you would make your way. And look how well you're doing, so important in our government, a man who's reached it all.”

Mycroft blushed a little. “Oh, Mummy…”

“Of course I wished you would find someone to settle down with, but I thought you are happy on your own. Not everybody has to marry or live with someone. Especially if they are all so much less intelligent as you are. What would you do with them? You were always happier without anyone around, were you?”

“Well, I guess so…” Never before had they spoken about something like this. They had been friendly but never intimate. It was catching him off guard.

“But Sherlock… He struggled so badly. In school he was, you call it 'bullied' these days. I knew it but he always refused to talk about it. He came home with a black eye or a twisted arm and didn’t say who did it to him.”

Mycroft froze. He had not known that! How could he have not known it? The thought was hurting him. His little brother – manhandled and scared. An image to get crazy about.

Mummy nodded. “It was after you had moved out. There was nothing you could have done. And eventually they stopped doing it. He got taller and I think he used his sharp tongue to fight them back. But still… He went on suffering. The drugs, dropping out of uni. He was never happy. And then he found this DI and the cases. It got better but still I could always feel he wasn’t happy, that there was a darkness behind his smile and in his voice. You both wear a mask, I know that, but I could always look behind his. He was still an unhappy child deep inside all this time. But he's changed so much. Now he's happy. It's impossible to miss it.”

“Yes… Doctor Watson is a really good friend for him. He never had any friends.” He said it almost mechanically, feeling tense and out of his depth.

“That's true. This man who I hope I will meet someday seems to be a real friend. I'm so glad Sherlock has got him. And I'm even happier that he's got _you_ now.”

Mycroft almost dropped his mug. But he had himself under control at once and gently put it onto the table. She couldn’t know it. She couldn’t mean it like he had understood it. She certainly had only meant that they were on better terms now. But they had bickered around her… A lot… He didn’t dare stare at her to deduce her. He was too afraid she could be able to deduce _him_ …

“Oh, they're coming. I better hurry with the coffee.”

Mycroft stood up, not knowing what to say. But then… If she had meant it like this… No. She had said that she was happy about it… No, she just couldn’t mean that…

“Go to the living room, love. Breakfast will be up soon.”

“Thank you, Mummy.”

She patted his arm. “You're my boys and you always will be. I'm happy if you're happy.”

He swallowed. “I am. And so is Sherlock.”

Their eyes finally locked. “I know,” she said then, and it was impossible to not read it between the lines.

 _She knows it._ And then he saw his father, an arm around Sherlock's shoulder. **_He_** _doesn’t… Isn't it always like that?_

He shared another look with his mother, and there was a silent agreement. Never speak it out towards Father. Better not at all. But for her and, of course, for them it was okay. No. Not okay. The only possibility. The only match. Holmes and Holmes. Saviours for each other. Hidden from the world but not from the woman they both called their mother.

He had not known how much he had craved for her approval before he had realised they had it.

*****

Sherlock saw that Mycroft was disturbed when he and Father met him in the hallway right before breakfast. But he had no chance to ask him about it. Mummy asked about his cases and he told her some funny stories.

When they had finished breakfast – with Mycroft being quiet but not appearing to be upset – their father asked if they could lend him a hand with an old table that had to be taken to the garage, and they ended up moving some more furniture.

And then it was time to get their stuff together and leave. Mummy accompanied him to his room.

“Shall I help you packing?”

Sherlock grinned. “I'm fine.”

“Yes, you are.”

He looked at her with a tilted head. She wasn’t talking about his packing abilities. And then he thought of his brother's expression and tensed.

“Mummy…” he began, not knowing what he wanted, _needed_ to say. His heart was suddenly beating way too fast.

She smiled. “I do worry about a lot of things, Sherlock. Politics, terrorism, our future on this planet. But I'm not worried about you anymore. I don't have to be, right?”

He stared at her. “No,” he said then, trying to sound calm. “I'm as happy as I can get.”

“I see that. And your brother – with this nasty sunburn, always working too hard. You'll take care of him, won't you?”

Sherlock wondered how they had failed at concealing it so badly. But he knew he wouldn’t speak it out and she wouldn’t right-out ask. Still there was only one answer to this. “Yes. Of course. We'll look after each other. Always.”

Mummy closed the distance between them and embraced him. After a second of hesitation, Sherlock closed his arms around her.

“My boys,” she said. “Always so special.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. He felt as grateful as he could be.

“A mother knows, Sherlock. A mother always knows. And she always understands.”

*****

Their parents didn’t accompany them to the car but said goodbye in front of the house. Embraces were exchanged and Mycroft did something he hadn't done for many years – he kissed both their parents on the cheek, and he could see how much they appreciated it. He promised again they would be back soon and he meant it.

Then he and Sherlock walked over to the car, both carrying their luggage. Sherlock also carried a bag with their lunch that Mummy had insisted on preparing for them.

“Mind if I drive?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock stood and stared at him. “Course not,” he said then.

It was very obvious that Mummy had spoken with him as well but they hadn't had a chance to talk about it as they hadn't had a single moment for themselves.

When they had stored their bags and gotten into the car, they drove off in silence.

Sherlock had slumped down in his seat but then he laid a hand on Mycroft's thigh. “She's awesome, isn’t she?”

“The best,” Mycroft agreed. “But then – she gave birth to you so she has to be.” The street was leading through the forest. Hardly any other cars were on it. A quiet Sunday morning in this part of England.

“They don't know me at all,” Sherlock said then. “John. Molly. Mrs Hudson. Lestrade. None of them suspects anything. I mean, I would have said the same about our mother an hour ago but… I'm sure about them.”

Mycroft was sure as well. They were hiding it perfectly from them, Sherlock's friends.

“But she – she just saw through all it. The bickering, the exasperation.”

“Even though it was meant completely seriously.”

Sherlock smiled. “It was a shock. It must have been an even bigger shock for her!”

“If it was, she got over it very quickly. Our father doesn’t know it though.”

“No. I guess for a man it's a lot harder to accept. He's not a homophobe, never was. But that…”

“Yes. I guess we'll have to go on playing the bickering Holmes boys for him. Still I would like to visit them more often.”

“So do I. They won't be around forever. And then it will be just us. And the extended family we don't talk to.”

“I guess so. But 'us' sounds good.”

“Always, Mycie. I wish… damn I wish we could live together. Perhaps even here.” He let himself sack into his seat again. He had never spoken it out with so much desperation.

Mycroft didn’t reply as they both knew it couldn’t be, but when he spotted a small road, he drove off the main street. After a hundred metres he stopped the car. They were in the middle of the forest.

Sherlock looked at him. “Why are we stopping?” He sounded hopeful.

Mycroft looked around. They were alone. It was too risky to do much. But they could be closer. He unfastened his seatbelt. “Come over to me.”

Sherlock was on his lap in an instant. “Damn! Car sex! It was on my list for ages but I thought you would never agree to do it!”

“Well, it looks we're all alone. But we can't really have sex. Just… a little bit.”

“I'll watch out and get off of you at once if anyone appears,” Sherlock promised. He opened Mycroft's trousers with deft fingers and fumbled out his hardening dick. Then he let his own out to rub against it and grab them both with a huge hand.

Mycroft stared at their glistening tips and let his finger slide over both of them, making Sherlock moan. “I wish that, too, Sherlock,” he said then. “Living with you. But we can't. Perhaps we can make something up so we can for a while.”

“Burn my room down?” Sherlock sounded as if he was already musing which ingredients he would need for that so it would look like an accident.

He chuckled. “Something like that.” He hoped Sherlock was good enough at such things to not burn 221b down…

Sherlock massaged them harder. “We will. Damn, Mycroft, I need you now.”

“I'm right here!” But of course he knew what his brother was about. “We don't have lube in our pockets, have we? And someone could show up anytime.”

“It will be over very fast.” Sherlock somehow managed to wriggle himself out of his trousers and pants.

“Sherlock, we can't…”

“Go on refusing! It turns me on even more!” He kneeled on his seat and reached out to the backseat. After a few seconds he had a bottle in his hands. “Ha!”

“No.” But he said it without conviction. He watched Sherlock lubing himself up and glanced outside the windows. They were still alone. But someone could come. Taking their dog for a walk, jogging…

And then Sherlock impaled himself on his cock, working his own stiff dick beneath Mycroft's shirt to rub it against his belly.

“Why do I ever say no in the first place?”

“I have no idea, brother mine. Wasted breath.” Sherlock started riding him, almost smashing his head against the ceiling.

Mycroft opened his shirt and wrapped his hand around the wet, hot penis that was leaving a sticky trace on the hair and skin of his stomach. He let Sherlock fuck himself in his hand while he was roughly moving up and down on his lap.

For the second time they had sex outside of a safe room, only that this was a really public place. But Sherlock had been right. It was over within two minutes. Sherlock climaxed all over Mycroft's hand and belly and his roughly constricting muscles milked Mycroft's orgasm out of him. Panting and moaning, they held onto each other, still so intimately connected, until Mycroft's softening dick slipped out of his brother's hole.

“We're full of sperm now. My trousers…” He fumbled out a few tissues and tried to clean them up but it wasn’t very successful.

“Washing machine. Nobody will see them.” Sherlock returned to the passenger's seat, slipping into his pants and trousers even though Mycroft's come must be still dribbling out of him.

Mycroft tucked himself away as well. He felt sticky and sweaty but he honestly didn’t really care. “Well, back on the road.” He started the car.

“We'll have to take a shower together when we're at home.”

 _At home_ … Mycroft's house… But in Mycroft's heart it _was_ their home. _Sherlock_ was his home. It wasn’t ideal that they had to hide their love, that they couldn’t live together, but it was their love, their life and he wouldn’t allow anyone to take it away from them.

They would go on like this – meeting whenever they could; he would indulge Sherlock with everything he wanted whenever Sherlock had solved a case for him and make love to him in any way that was pleasant for both of them. Damn, they would just forget about this deal and do it whenever Sherlock, or even himself, had a special idea. That they would even live their sexuality with the approval of their mother was a detail that made him feel very blessed. But even without that, he knew it wasn’t wrong. He loved Sherlock with all his heart, and in opposite to what certain people were thinking of him, he had a big heart, at least when it came to his brother.

He thought about what his mother had revealed over Sherlock's nasty experiences in school that he had never mentioned towards him. He had long ceased to be someone to push around and torture but Mycroft vowed to himself that if anyone ever laid a hand on his brother again or hurt him in any psychological way, he would take care of them, and God rest their souls.

Sherlock was his little brother, his husband in every sense that counted; he was his love and his life. And if Sherlock wanted him to wear a soutane when they had sex or watch him fucking a doll that looked like him or pretend he was a dustman or an army captain or whatever else he might think of, Mycroft would do it. Sherlock meant everything to him and there wasn’t one thing he wouldn’t do for him.

“I love you, big brother,” Sherlock said, laying his hand on his thigh again. Of course he had sensed his thoughts. They couldn’t hide anything from each other anymore, and why would they even want to?

Mycroft turned his head to look into his eyes, these glorious, blue-green eyes, to see all the affection in them. This look would never cease to make him feel blessed. “That's very good because I love you like crazy, little brother.”

“Forever, right?”

“Of course, Sherlock. Forever.”

The End


End file.
